


Sentinel Prime and the Quest for Booty

by Darksidekelz



Category: Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Crack, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2018-06-09 09:33:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6900547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darksidekelz/pseuds/Darksidekelz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sentinel's been alone for long enough.  It's time to get his life back on track.  It's time . . . to get laid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Passion Connection

**Author's Note:**

> Ideally this is gonna be a bunch of one shots as Sentinel hooks up with everyone I can reasonably get him to hook up with. Should be fun.

Sentinel Prime was kind of a big deal.  He led the Elite Guard, second in power only to the Magnus himself.  His presence inspired awe amongst the peons beneath him.  He was handsome, powerful, a master of strategy, and a beacon of charisma.  There was not a bot alive that came close to rivaling his glory.  And yet, he had one small problem.

It was true.  Sentinel Prime, glorious and magnificent though he was, had a sad lack of booty in his life.

He simply couldn't wrap his head around it!  He was desirable in every way, and yet he was so regrettably alone.  How could this be?

"You gotta put yourself out there," Jazz suggested when approached.  "Think about it, when do you ever see another bot outside work?"

"Never," Sentinel admitted.

"Well then, there's your problem.  Folks ain't gonna come to you.  You gotta go to them."

Sentinel thought it over.  It _was_ pretty sound logic.  That was the reason he had come to Jazz in the first place.  Independent though he sometimes was, at least he was a fountain of good ideas.  "So what, should we like, hit up some bars or something?"

Jazz let out a knowing chuckle that Sentinel very much did not like.  "I've got a better idea."

~~~

Sentinel did not know what the 'Passion Connection' was – some kind of online matchmaking service, he supposed, but Jazz swore by it, and that was enough for him.  Within hours of creating his profile, he had his first match – a young bot (at least by comparison), severe, and with a military job to boot!  He'd had no image on his profile, but Sentinel didn't need such things.  Already, he knew that this bot would be the one.  He'd accepted Sentinel's offer, after all.

They were to meet at Maccadam's (because where else would they meet?), ready for a night of passion and Engex.  Of course, upon arrival, Sentinel began to have doubts.

His optics scanned over the patronage, but his dream mech wasn't there.  Everyone was small, dumpy – too old, or too timid, or too civilian, and all eyes were locked on him.  It only made sense; he _was_ sort of a big deal.  But that didn't make him feel any better.  Where was his date?  Had he been stood up?  Stylus_report1234 would rue the day he dared make a mockery of the great Sentinel Prime!

Another sweep of the room and he caught sight of his old secretary, Cliffjumper, currently trying very hard to bury his face in a drink menu.  What an odd thing to do.  Still, he was the only bot in the bar that Sentinel recognized.  At the very least they could get drunk together; the night wouldn't be a _total_ waste.  Just _mostly_ a waste.  So without a word, Sentinel sauntered over to Cliffjumper's booth, plopped down, and snagged the drink menu from the small bot's hands, taking the opportunity to peruse it himself.

"Ah, Sentinel Prime, Sir.  Fancy seeing you here."

Sentinel peered over his menu.  "What's _that_ supposed to mean?  Do you think I don't know how to have fun?!  Get me a Latta Collins," he snapped at the passing waiter without missing a beat.  And one for him, too."

"Yes sir!" the mech replied, before scurrying off.  Cliffjumper slumped in his seat.

" _Now_ what's wrong?"

"I'm more of a crude oil kinda guy," he muttered.

A flash of fire lit Sentinel's optics.  "Is that what you do when someone buys you a gift?!  Spit in the face of my generosity?!"

Cliffjumper shifted uncomfortably.  "Well Sir, the thing is – I mean, it's not that I don't enjoy your presence, but I'm actually supposed to be meeting someone here.  For a date."

"What a coincidence!  I am too!  Stupid little scrapheap stood me up . . . wait a minute."  Realization dawned on Sentinel, like somebot pulling back the silvery-frosted blinds in his hab suite.  _No way._   "Stylus_report1234?"

Cliffjumper grew pale, optics widening in horror.  " _You're_ True-Blue-Fantasy?!  I thought you were a boat-former!"

"Why would you think that?!" Sentinel snapped, legitimately offended.  Him?!  A _boat_?!  He looked _way_ better than any boat!

"Your profile pic was of you on a beach.  And by 'you,' I mean some bot that I guess kind of looks like you if you squint, but with a more chiseled jaw, and five times more kibble.  Did you edit it yourself?!"

Sentinel sputtered.  Okay, so maybe he _had_ embellished his picture a _bit_ , but what choice did he have?!  Jazz had chosen to use the least flattering image he could find!  Sentinel's chin was not _that_ big, nor so bulbous. 

"Okay, okay.  You know?  Forget it.  Mistaken identity, I get it.  But look, Cliffjumper.  You're here.  I'm here.  We're obviously both a little desperate.  Drinks are on the way.  So let's suck up our pride, and try and make this work.  What do you say?"  It hurt to be the voice of reason, but Sentinel came out here tonight with the purpose of getting laid.  Damned if he wasn't going to achieve that goal.

For his part, Cliffjumper narrowed his optics and opened his mouth, as if to protest, then thought better of it.  "Ugh, yeah, I guess you're right.  Just – er, just don't tell my boss about this.  Man, this is so awkward."

Their waiter had excellent timing, depositing their drinks on the table the moment the conversation lulled.  Both mechs reached out simultaneously, bringing the warm, acidic liquid to their lips.  Cliffjumper chugged his in one gulp, and Sentinel, not to be outdone, mimicked the action. 

With the first cube emptied, Sentinel wiped the excess fuel from his lips, and slammed the empty glass on the table, a wide grin breaking out on his face.

"Let's get this party started!"

~~~

All things considered, the evening didn't go so badly as he'd expected.  Sentinel hadn't spent much time with Cliffjumper since the little mech had been transferred to Intel; he'd forgotten how much he liked the guy.  Cliffjumper was fun to be around after he got a few shots of Mebian in him, and he didn't even look half-bad once _Sentinel_ got a few shots in himself.  He was a feisty, opinionated little aft, and his opinions just so happened to match Sentinel's.  Why had he never promoted the guy?

It was when they got kicked out of the bar after Cliffjumper threw his empty cube into the face of another customer that Sentinel remembered.  He was pretty fragging nuts.

But right now, he was too drunk to care.  The whole ordeal was hilarious to him.  Even the audacity of the bartender (he had _no_ right to kick _Sentinel Prime_ out of anywhere!) failed to upset him.  He was drunk, the city was beautiful, and for the first time in millennia, he had a willing interface partner.

"So, your place, or mine?" he asked with a loose grin.  Cliffjumper's optics widened for a moment, before a matching smile broke out on his own face.

"Yours!  I wanna see _your_ digs!  Should be fun!"

Who was Sentinel to deny him?

Sentinel's home was luxurious, the kind of abode suited to the second most important mech on all of Cybertron.  It was situated that the top of Iacon's third tallest high-rise, above the clouds, and it was huge.  A Decepticon could have found it roomy, in the three seconds it had left to live before finding itself murdered for trespassing and generally being evil.

The main room itself was the height of fashion, decked in crystalline sofas that glistened in a lovely array of colors when light poured in from the wall-to-wall windows.  He had a luxurious entertainment station set up, a bowl of energon treats for the visitors he never hosted, and even the occasional mysterious knick knack, whose purpose was unknown, but damned if it didn't look cool.  But though this trifles brought a hint of personality to the otherwise cold room, the real draw was the view.  From this room, all of Iacon lay at his feet.

Hopefully Cliffjumper wasn't afraid of heights.

" _This_ is where you live?!"  The little bot slurred, wobbling on unsteady feet.

"Yup," Sentinel bragged.  "Pretty hip, don't ya think?"

"Yeah, it's all right.  Big."  Apparently Cliffjumper had no interest in interior decorating.  He wouldn't know an Atomizer chandelier from a Tracks armoire if they were labeled with size 800 glyphs.  What a loser.

Still, he was a loser that was gonna get Sentinel Prime laid for the first time in millennia.  Just to keep things in perspective.

As it turned out, it had been awhile for Cliffjumper too.  The two had hit the sofa in a clumsy, drunken flailing of limbs and teeth – Cliffjumper had landed atop Sentinel, and had promptly rolled off onto the floor, before making a hasty recovery.

"I meant to do that," he assured, scurrying back up.

Sentinel responded by cupping a massive hand over the Minibot's aft, securing him in place to prevent future incidents.  It also had the bonus effect of making the little mech squirm against him, panels heating with need.

He pressed his mouth to Cliffjumpers, devouring the drunken taste of engex on his lips, and Cliffjumper pressed into the kiss, tiny hands wrapping themselves around Sentinel's thick neck, tracing clumsy circles in the protoform.  And that was when Sentinel realized the major flaw in this plan.

He was a good two size classes larger than Cliffjumper.  There was no way this was going to be a pleasant experience for either of the – especially Sentinel.  But it was too late to back out now.

"Cliffjumper, open your panels," he breathed against Cliffjumper's broad chin, and Cliffjumper hastened to do so, releasing both spike and valve, the latter with copious amounts of lubricant trickling from it.

Sentinel ignored the spike.  He was _not_ letting _anyone_ spike him – let alone a boring little Minibot like Cliffjumper.  It was the valve he was after.  The hand cupping Cliffjumper's aft gravitated downwards, until his thick fingers dipped into that welcoming crevice.  Cliffjumper let out a soft moan in response.

"You like that, don't you?" Sentinel smiled, wrapping his lips around one of Cliffjumper's horns, eliciting another shudder from the little mech.  "Well, there's a lot more where that came from."  Or such had been the plan.  Unfortunately, when he tried to dig his fingers in deeper, he found that he was at no angle to do so.

"Hold on," he said, drawing a confused look from Cliffjumper.  "One second.  I need you to – actually, no.  You don't do anything.  I'll just –"  He shifted Cliffjumper in his grasp, having remarkable trouble with finding a better angle.  This shouldn't have been so hard.  Fingers go in valve.  It wasn't rocket science.  But his head was spinning, and the heat flowing through his own fuel lines wasn't helping.

Eventually, it seemed that Cliffjumper had had enough of being treated like a serving drone and rose up, grabbed onto Sentinel's wrist, and seated himself on those fat fingers, purring happily at the sensation of finally being filled.  Ordinarily, Sentinel would have been furious at being so defied, but truth be told, he _was_ grateful.  Primus knew just how much further he would have embarrassed himself if he'd been allowed to continue.

Now, with Cliffjumper right where he wanted him, there was nothing left to do but get to work.  He slipped his fingers in and out of the slick valve, spreading the lips wide, stretching the tight little thing as far as he could, until Cliffjumper let out a pleased whimper, then let them fall slack, before repeating the process again and again.  Soon, they'd fallen into a rhythm, with Cliffjumper thrusting his hips into the probing fingers, burying them within himself until they pressed against the roof of his valve.  It wasn't very deep at all.  What a disappointment.

"Hey Cliffjumper," Sentinel slurred, feeling as though the world was spinning.  Was he getting drunker as time passed?  Or had it just been so long since he'd been in this position?

"Yeah, Boss?"  The word shot straight to Sentinel's spike, and he had not the self control to keep it in check for a moment longer.  It deployed with an embarrassingly loud hiss, and Cliffjumper paused in his grinding to fix his optics on it. 

"I take it you like being called 'boss.'  Good to know, Boss."  If Sentinel didn't know any better, he'd think the little bot was making fun of him.  But no one was _that_ stupid.

"Bend over, I wanna frag you," he commanded, putting on his most sultry grin.

Cliffjumper laughed.  "I would, but you're all up and in my business right now.   Maybe you should remove your fingers first?"  The little bastard _was_ making fun of him!   Sentinel removed his fingers, as though slapped, and rolled to the side, which had the pleasant effect of sending Cliffjumper toppling to the floor with a loud clatter of armor.

"Hey!  What the scrap?!"

Sentinel was on him in an instant, trying his hardest to mount the tiny bot – and of course, running into problems.  _Primus_ , this was embarrassing.

"Problem, _Boss_?"  Sentinel's plating shook, and his spike jolted against Cliffjumper's aft of its own accord.  Stupid little Minibot with his stupid _words_!

"N-no!  Of course not.  It's just . . . you're a lot smaller than I realized."  Sentinel dwarfed poor Cliffjumper.  With their hips aligned, Cliffjumper vanished completely beneath him.  To be honest, it kind of creeped Sentinel out.  He fell back on his knees, even as Cliffjumper rolled over.

"What?  Is there a _problem_ with that?!  I can take just as much as a normal bot!  Give too."  That was an angry bluff, but Sentinel didn't care.  Cliffjumper was totally misinterpreting the situation.

"No, no, no," Sentinel said, at some point losing track of whatever it was he was going to say.  Instead, he shifted his legs out from beneath him, until they were more comfortably sprawled apart, and then scooped up the little pest, drawing him near.  "Here.  Come here.  We'll do it like this."  And then, with as much gentleness as he could muster, he lowered the little bot onto his spike.

Cliffjumper's vents hitched as the shallow walls of his valve stretched wide to accommodate, and he reached out madly for Sentinel, grabbing on to his grille and clinging for dear life, the words knocked out of him.

But Sentinel still had words.

"Fuck," he groaned out.  "Fuck!  That's so fucking good!  Fuck!!"  Was he actually thrusting?  Oh no.  He hadn't moved at all.  Whoops.  He supposed he probably should fix that.

Or Cliffjumper could.  Evidently, the little guy had already adjusted, and was now growing impatient, choosing to take his pleasure into his own hands.  Tiny frame wracked with shivers, he clung on to Sentinel, ground his hips, and growled.

"Give it to me!  Just like that, you dirty, dirty Elite Guard officer elite, you.  Yeah!  Cliffjumper likes it like that!"

"Yeah?" Sentinel grinned, drunk on Cliffjumper's husky voice and the unbelievable power he felt sitting there doing abso-fucking-lutely nothing.  And also the engex. 

"Yeah!  And, and – you're so – so _tall_ , and um, blue.  That's a great color.  But with like, orange accents.  Which are nice.  They're kind of like complimentary colors.  Very bold choice.  It makes you stand out in a crowd.  And like, uh – frag – you have a really big chin!"

"Go on?"

"Uh – it's like, really huge!  Like, I want to fuck myself on your chin!  Grrr!  Give it to me!"  He picked up the pace for half-a-second, a fire in his drunken optics, before he jerked hard, and threw himself back at Sentinel's chest.  "Fuck, ow."

So dirty talk wasn't Cliffjumper's strongest suit.  Who _cared_ what he was saying?   Being here, right now, with a very enthusiastic little bot riding him, trying to arouse him further, make him feel _mighty,_ sent a hot sensation shooting straight through to Sentinel's spike, and Sentinel's spike, in turn, shot off straight into Cliffjumper, who froze, as best he could with the taxing shudders already wracking his frame, to fix Sentinel a disgruntled stare.

" _Really_?"

"S-shut up!"  Sentinel snapped, slumping forward, perhaps a little too far.  By the time he finished his descent, his now-flaccid spike had slid out of poor Cliffjumper, who soon found himself trapped beneath that massive body, giving a small 'oof' in protest.  Sentinel didn't notice.

"I'm super drunk, okay!  You try holding on when you're like, really overcharged and really aroused and someone offers to fuck your chin.  I mean, how would one even go about doing that?"

Cliffjumper groaned.  "Wow, I can't believe I said that."

"Yeah, me neither."

The little bot was wiggling now, and belatedly, Sentinel realized that he might not like being trapped beneath Sentinel's fat ass.  He propped himself up on his strong arms, staring down at the flushed little mech.  Beautiful.

"But what about me?" Cliffjumper groaned, ignoring the sentimental smile on Sentinel's face?  "I wanna overload too.  It's not fair if you're the only one!"

An idea crossed Sentinel's mind, one that he could never speak of to another soul.  "Here, I got a plan."  Without waiting for a reply, he snaked down Cliffjumper's body, until he was at optic level with Minibot spike.  This was sure to be embarrassing, but it would be even more so if word got out that he couldn't satisfy a lover.

He took the entire thing in his mouth with ease, an action which caused Cliffjumper to stiffen, joints tense with anticipation.  What was he supposed to do from here?  He'd received head from other mechs before, but he'd never given it himself.

Slag, it was too hard to think.  It was just in-out-in-out, wasn't it?  He tried that.

"Ouch!  Watch the dentae!"  Cliffjumper screeched, voice unusually high.  But he calmed down quickly enough, pained groans giving way to needy little whimpers.  Sliding his fat fingers into that dripping valve only served to amplify the effect.  It took less than a klik for Cliffjumper to devolve into a writhing mass of released charge and piteous howls.  And that was the same moment that Sentinel got his first taste of transfluid.  It was bitter, but not as intolerable as he'd been led to believe.

His mouth slid off of Cliffjumper's spike with a slick pop.  He looked at Cliffjumper.  Cliffjumper looked at him.  He looked at Cliffjumper . . .

"So, uh . . . that happened," Cliffjumper said, refusing to play the Quiet Game with Sentinel.

"Yeah.  Yup.  Uh-huh.  It sure did."  Smooth.  Time had weakened the effect of the Engex, and the fog of arousal was fast-fading too.  All that remained was an unlikely couple, and a fast-sinking-in realization of what they'd just done.  Frag.

"So uh," Sentinel said, completely lost.  "Did you want to stay the night, or . . . ?"

Cliffjumper shook his head.  "No!  Primus no."  Well, _that_ had been a hasty denial.  He seemed to rethink it just as quickly.  "I mean, that was nice and all, but well – think how it would look if I left your house tomorrow morning.  The paparazzi would be all over us, and uh – I don't want that.  No offense.  Tonight was fun but – well, I'm sobering up and would kinda just like to . . . get back to my life."

It was a good point.  Sentinel crawled to his feet; even managed to stay upright for two nanokliks before collapsing onto the couch.  He was dead tired, and trusted Cliffjumper enough to not rob him of his trinkets and secrets in his sleep.  Throwing an arm over his head to block out the world, he said, "Feel free to use my washracks and see yourself out.  I think I'm gonna pass out now."

"Yes Sir." 

Sentinel had thought the little mech gone, he was silent for so long.  He was thus quite surprised to hear that gruff voice speak up over the empty room once more.  "Thank you, Sir."

"You're welcome," Sentinel moaned without thinking, his mind half-asleep already.  He didn't know why Cliffjumper was thanking him – for a fun night and a good lay, he supposed.  And it _had_ been fun.  Before tonight, Sentinel had gone millennia without interfacing; Primus, how he'd missed it!  Even drunk, clumsy, and awkward as the encounter had been, Sentinel didn't regret it.  And while he had no illusions that he and Cliffjumper would have a second time, he was ready to jump right back into the game.  There was always next time.

The soft pitter patter of retreating feet signaled Cliffjumper's departure.  Sentinel was asleep before the door clicked shut behind the little mech, the last thought on his mind, _I hope he locks it behind him._

 


	2. Sentinel Magnus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sentinel is done with dating sites. Now is the time to frequent sketchy bars in the bad part of town. Maybe he'll get lucky?

It was supposed to be a one-time thing – boink Cliffjumper, cure the insatiable sexual urges, get his life back together.  But Sentinel had tasted lust, and he wanted more.  Interfacing with Cliffjumper again was right out.  He didn't want his little ex-secretary to think that this was a _thing_.  Besides, Sentinel Prime could have any mech he wanted, and Cliffjumper wasn't exactly a '10.'  Sentinel could do better.  But with that option _impossible_ to pursue, due one hundred percent to his own personal tastes, and having zero relation to the fact that Cliffjumper had made it clear that he was disinterested in pursuing a relationship with him, Sentinel was left very single, and very horny.  There had to be something he could do, some way to quell the fires that were just beginning to awaken within him.

He needed Jazz.  Jazz always knew what to do.

"The Passion Connection not working out for you?" Jazz asked, lounging in the doorframe of Sentinel's office.

"You don't know what you're getting with that service.  I can tell you that much."

"Hmm, okay then.  You want something more upfront.  I can dig it."

And that was how Sentinel Prime found himself at Hot Rods, an upscale eatery in the Red Light district, alone and awkward and _completely_ out of place.  He was going to MURDER Jazz the next time their paths crossed.  This was no place for an upscale bot like him to be.

The serving bots walked around with no chest armor!  How was that even legal?  Just, letting their sparks hang out like that?!  Obscene!  Beautiful, but obscene!  He could not fall victim to this hovel of debauchery!  He ordered a plate of energon nachos and hung his head.  He would not look.  He would not look.

"Sentinel Prime?!"

Scrap.

Somebody in this place _knew_ him (of course they did, he was a public figure)!  But worse than _that_ dawning horror, was the fact that he recognized that youthful, cocksure voice – _he_  knew someone _here_.  Slowly, his head turned, optics wide at the looming terror of what he was about to see.

Rodimus Prime, drunk off his aft, paused in mid-conversation with a chatty serving bot to gawk at Sentinel Prime.  Sentinel promptly stood up, made an about face, and ran smack into a tray of energon nachos, upsetting the tray and flinging sweet crunchy goodness into the air.  He nearly expected to hear a gag riff from the band. 

"Whoa!  Sentinel, chill out!" Rodimus laughed, scurrying over to offer a hand.  "I'm not gonna tattle or anything – not that there's anything wrong with hangin' out in a place like this."  He offered a wink to one of the servers, who mimicked the gesture, adding a thumbs up.

"That's Windcharger.  He's got the best stories!  Oh, and the red femme over there?  She's Firestar!  Always order from her.  Her drinks are to die for!"

Sentinel smacked away Rodimus's offered hand, rising to his feet on his own terms.  "I don't care.  I don't care who any of them are!  I'm leaving."  He stormed from the establishment, dripping in a mass of succulent fluids and hating his life.  Naturally, Rodimus followed behind.

"Sentinel?  Aww, don't be like that!  I was just trying to lighten the mood.  Jazz and I got to talking, and he said that you might be interested in pursuing a one-night stand of sorts, and well, it's been awhile and –"

"What?!"

"Well, I mean," said Rodimus, suddenly aware of what he'd just said.  Sentinel watched him, flabbergasted.  Had that little mech said what he thought he'd heard?  He'd give the guy one chance to explain.  Then he was gone.

"You're looking to hook up, right?" Rodimus squeaked, panicking.  Smooth.  Rodimus was so very smooth.  But it worked.  His words caught Sentinel so off-guard that he _couldn't_ be angry.

"What?" he said again, this time without the exclamation point.

Rodimus saw his chance and took it.

"Stick around, and I promise you'll get that chance!"

"Wh – I am _not_ hooking up with a common serving bot!  I don't care _how_ attractive they are."

Rodimus rolled his optics.  "I was thinking _we_ could hook up, actually.  I just need a lot more engex in my system."

Sentinel froze.  Was he really hearing this?  Rodimus was the second hottest bot in the military (the first was himself, of course!)  Rodimus was _way_ out of his league!  A rock star like that usually went for ugly mechs to make himself look better (it worked for Blurr and Longarm, after all).  If Sentinel and _Rodimus_ hooked up, the world may very well explode beneath the force of their combined charisma.  They could stop an army of space zombies with their looks alone.  Sentinel needed a moment to process this.

"You like?" Rodimus grinned, though he seemed a bit queezy.  Perhaps he was intimidated?

"How in the Pit did Jazz convince you to go for this?" Sentinel settled on at last, optics narrowing.

"That, Sir, is a secret between Jazz and myself.  But I assure you it had nothing to do with my pathological _need_ to be doted on, nor the fact that I've seen no action in half a vorn . . . or was it a vorn and a half?"  He laughed drunkenly.

It had been an odd thing to say, but what did Sentinel care?  He had Rodimus here, and apparently willing to stay the night with him for the price of a couple of shots and the company of some pleasure-bots minus the pleasure.  It wasn't, altogether, too horrible of a scheme.  He ordered a drink and decided to see where the night took them.

~~~

Rodimus was a good dancer.  He was graceful, strong, and damn hot with that figure and those vivid yellow flames on his chest, that seemed to flicker with each shimmy and sway.  Primus only knew _why_ he'd chosen to get up on the stage and join the serving bots in their titillating ritual, but Sentinel wasn't about to complain.  That was, until Rodimus hopped down and grabbed hold of his arm.  _That_ was crossing a line.

"C'mon Sentinel.  Join us up here!"

"What?!"  No.  _Hell_ no.  Sentinel did not dance.  _Primes_ did not dance – at least not the self-respecting ones.  Rodimus was out of his mind.

"It's fun.  Come on!  Join us!  I'll make it worth your while!"  And yet, Rodimus's grin was so persuasive.  And his aft was nice too.  Okay.  Maybe, _maybe_ this once Sentinel could break his code.  Besides, it wasn't like anyone was going to find out about this.

And then he was up, dancing on that stage, letting his hips sway and his arms flail and his chin bop, uninhibited.  He may have even sung a little song.

"Sweet slag!  This Prime knows how to party!" Rodimus cried out, offering him another shot of Nightmare Fuel.  This wasn't so bad.  He was feeling buzzy, airy, floaty – he wouldn't have been surprised if this was latent flight frame coding making itself known.  Make Autobots had the coding in them all along?  Maybe they could tip the balance against the Decepticons once and for all.  Maybe he should try it right now!

With a laugh, he leapt into the air, savoring the sensation – the lack of ground below him as he flew, flew, flew face-first into the floor, cracking the tile in the process.  The room fell silent, the music cut out with the warped scratch of a record.  Sentinel was regretting his life choices.

"Whoa, Sentinel!  Are you okay?"  Rodimus asked, scurrying from the stage to give Sentinel a hand.  But nothing could save his shot dignity.

"I'm.  Fine," he snapped, slapping away the hand and stumbling to his feet on his own.  This was ridiculous!  A bunch of nameless serving bots were – were _laughing_ at him.  Maybe not audibly, but he knew they were.  He would never live this down.

Plating flared and head spinning, he stumbled drunkenly from the bar, into the busy streets beyond.  He made it about half a block before he realized he was being followed.  Rodimus.

"What do you want?" he snapped back to his escort.  Rodimus hurried to catch up, shorter legs working twice as hard to keep pace.

"What's the rush, Sentinel?  We were having fun in there.  _You_ were having fun in there!  So you tumbled off the stage; that's okay!  Lots of guys do.  It happens when you're drunk.  Coordination goes out the window and you're left stumbling around like an idiot.  It happens to the best of us."

"It doesn't happen to me!" Sentinel snapped.

Rodimus sighed, long an put upon.  "Okay, if you insist.  But I'm not letting you go home alone.  I mean, you came out here to have a good time, didn't you?"

"I don't wanna get laid anymore!" Sentinel hissed.  I just want to get outta here and regain what little is left of my dignity."

This time the flashy little hot shot had the audacity to _roll his optics_!  Who the frag did this kid think he was?!  Before he had a chance to chastise the brat, however, Rodimus was stepping in.

"Is that really what you want?" he asked, folding his arms.  He looked . . . angry?  What did _he_ have to be angry about?

"Yes?" Sentinel hated how unsure he sounded.  He needed more oomph to the rejection.  "Well, I mean, come on!  It's clear you're not my type.  I mean, look at you!  You're way too flashy, too gaudy, and I mean, we got the same _rank_!"

"Rank?" Rodimus tilted his head.  The insults had missed their mark, which didn't surprise him too much.  Rodimus was known amongst the other Primes for his level head.  Why then, was he bothered by the comments on his rank?

"Yeah," said Sentinel.  "I mean, how's that gonna work, you and me on equal footing?  It won't!  And then one day I'll find that you've gotten in on Ultra Magnus's good side, and _bam!_ I'm out of a job!  I can't have that!"

"Oh," said Rodimus.  And now he looked dejected.  And as much as Sentinel never would have admitted it, the fact displeased him.  That lovely face was meant to smile!  But now its optics were downcast, its mouth twisted in an unhappy direction.  It was enough to make him forget his anger of only a few seconds ago.  "Sorry then," he muttered.  "My fault for er – assuming.  I think I'm – err – I'm just gonna go home then.  Sorry to ruin your evening." He turned on his heel, and began shuffling off, and damned if it wasn't the sorriest sight in the world.

"Wait," Sentinel was reaching out a hand for the young Prime before he could stop himself.  Rodimus turned back to look at him, and damned if he didn't have just the biggest, bluest optics Sentinel had ever seen.  How could he refuse those?  "What I meant to say is, since you're already out here, and I'm out here, maybe we could . . .?"

"Oh thank Primus.  I'm kinda really desperate for this."  Funny how quickly his expression shifted.  Oh well.  He looked happy now, and that was all that mattered.  "Yes.  Let's get the frag outta here!"

And so they did.  Right back to Sentinel's humble abode.  Rodimus was much more appreciative of it than Cliffjumper had been, at least.  "Primus!  That's an Atomizer chandelier!  Holy frag, I've always wanted to see one up close.  And what's this?  A Tracks armoire?  From 723 if I'm not mistaken.  Must've cost a fortune!"

The compliments went straight to Sentinel's spike.  He loved a mech who knew his pretentious interior decorations.  That was a mech that had done been raised right.  It was time to show his appreciation. 

Sentinel sauntered forward, prepared to show just how good of a lay he was when he was not tripping over himself drunk.  Perhaps the kissy-lips had been a bit much, however, for Rodimus sidestepped, leaving Sentinel to trip over himself.  Like a fool.

"What the frag was that, Rodimus?!"

But Rodimus was on him in an instant, in a flurry of flying limbs and sloppy kisses.  They fell to the ground with a heavy clang, and Sentinel had just enough time to see the wicked gleam in Rodimus's optic, before the mech was sliding down his chest, glossa darting into seams, hands pinching at his tires.

"A-aahh, w-what are you doing?"

"Uhh," said Rodimus, looking up with a mouthful of wires.  It hurt, but in a surprisingly good way.  "Ravishing you?"

"Yes," growled an impatient Sentinel.  "I can see that.  But _I'm_ supposed to be the one doing the ravishing.  Didn't Jazz tell you _that_ much?"

Rodimus relinquished the wires and shimmied up Sentinel's chest, making extra certain to grind his frame into Sentinel's every inch of the way.  Frag, was it getting hot in here?  "Oh sorry, I must've gotten confused, what with us being the same rank and all.  Forgive me.  As a _Prime_ , I must just really like to take charge."

"Th-that's unacceptable!" Sentinel squawked, though there wasn't much conviction behind it.  "I'm a – a _Prime-ier_ Prime than you are!  I should be taking charge of _you_!"

Again, Rodimus was rolling his eyes.  "Sentinel, do you wanna get laid tonight?"

"Yes."  Sentinel felt rather sheepish saying so.  How did this stupid little hot shot Speedster make _him_ feel like the small one?

"Then shut up and let me do my thing."

And then somehow, _somehow_ , Rodimus – with his light frame and skinny arms and cocky attitude that secretly made Sentinel _damn_ horny, managed to roll over bulky Sentinel Prime with an easy grace, hands sliding down his back, feeling out every inch of him, until at last, he sat with his closed panel pressed against Sentinels.  He ground his hips a few times, allowing the friction between them to make Sentinel weak in the knees.  It wasn't supposed to happen this way!

"Rodimus," he groaned, trying to protest this predicament.

"If you're gonna be a _protoform_ about it, then just call me Magnus, yeah?"

What?  Images of Ultra Magnus flooded Sentinel's head.  While he was surely handsome in his own way, the thought of his _boss_ in such an intimate situation was decidedly _not_ hot.  "Rodimus, you're killing my boner."

"Rodimus _Magnus_ ," he insisted.

"That's _so_ insubordinate of you," Sentinel groaned, moving away.

Rodimus let out an annoyed huff.  "You're the one who's hung up on rank."  At the continued disapproving glare from Sentinel, he gave in.  "Okay, okay fine.  We'll do it _your_ way, Sentinel _Magnus._ "

Boner restored.  And he could definitely see why Rodimus's ulterior motive to naming himself Magnus for the night.  Just the sound of that little, _powerful_ word was enough to make Sentinel feel like he was on top of the world.  He may have even shuddered.  Primus, that sounded good!

"But _I'm_ still spiking, Sir."

"In your dreams, _cadet_."

Rodimus rolled his optics, and then, much to Sentinel's irritation, instead of jumping him once again, grinding their arrays together, fragging him hard, he inched away and sat up on his knees, a look of intense concentration on his face as he stared straight ahead.

"Rodimus?  What are you doing?"

"I am awaiting your orders, Sir!"  The tone was about right, but it was clear that Rodimus was bitter over being dethroned.  But like the Pit was Sentinel letting a mech farther down the pecking order spike _him_.  He was Ultra Magnus's number two!  _No one_ spiked Ultra Magnus's number two!

And what the frag was this kid doing anyway?  Being called Magnus was hot, yes, but this stupid cadet act was decidedly _not._ Sentinel didn't want to play games.  Sentinel wanted to frag someone hard, and he wanted it right now.  "Get your sorry aft over here you miserable spike-tease!" he snapped.

"Yes Magnus, Sir!" Rodimus barked, scurrying over to Sentinel's side and turning in such a way to provide a very generous and very intentional view of said aft.  Between the title and the lovely sight, Sentinel could not prevent his spike from pressurizing.

"Oh frag."

"Would you like some help with that, _Magnus Sir_?"

Sentinel moaned, loud and long.  Who knew that a word could have such power.  He half wondered if Rodimus could make him overload with words alone.  Oh wait, he'd asked a question.

"Yes!  Yes I need help with this –err, cadet."  Did Rodimus just narrow his optics?  Frag, who cared?  "Come over here.  I want your mouth!"

"Yes Magnus, _Sir_!"

Fraaaaaaag.

Those lips wrapped around his spike, warm and wet, taking him in – glossa dancing between ridges and along nodes, soft moans creating the most pleasant of vibrations, throat falling lax to let him get that much deeper – in, out, in out.  And oh, he'd positioned his aft in the air, red and polished, and beautiful.  If it had been just a little closer, Sentinel would have reached out and grabbed it.  Instead, he settled for allowing a thick hand to trail Rodimus's spinal strut in a lazy motion, while throwing his head back.  Damn, that felt good.

But not good enough.

It didn't take Sentinel long to notice his fatal error.  He'd taken away Rodimus's ability to speak.  Sentinel had tasted the title of 'Magnus,' and he wanted more.  Preferably before Rodimus finished him off.

"Hey, hey get off!" he groaned, grabbing on to Rodimus's crest and prying the little leech away.  Rodimus met his eyes with the most debauched look on his face.  Oh frag, he had to make this quick.

"Yes Mag – oof"  Sentinel clamped a hand over Rodimus's mouth.  If he said it again, who knew _what_ would happen?

"Get on your hands and knees, valve to me.  I wanna frag you hard.  And then, I want you to overload screaming my – er – my title.  Got it, cadet?"

Rodimus mumbled something against his hand, and gave a nod, before turning around, displaying that beautiful aft one more time.  Primus, this was going to be fast.

Sentinel was in the second Rodimus bared his tight, warm valve, already dripping with lubricant.  He slid in with ease, despite the size difference, and was pounding away with all the force he could muster.  In the process, he'd had to relinquish his hold on Rodimus's mouth to do so.  Fortunately, Rodimus was being a good boy and keeping his trap shut.  Though he kept letting these delicious little moans get through, which were driving Sentinel nuts.  He already had an idea as to how he wanted this to end; he had to hold out 'til then.

"Cadet," he groaned between thrusts.  "How does this feel?"

"It – argh – it feels fantastic, Sir."

No, that wasn't right.  This time, he made his best effort at channeling his inner drill sergeant, and spat, "What was that, cadet?!"

"IT FEELS FANTASTIC, MAGNUS, SIR!"

And that was it.  Sentinel overloaded right there, howling like a mech demented.  He wondered if the bots on the street below could hear him.

Did Rodimus overload too?  Maybe?  It was hard to tell through the cloudy haze overtaking his mind.  He was certainly noisy enough. 

Once spent, Sentinel collapsed forward, falling atop Rodimus's smaller frame.  He gave a slight oomph, but the happy purr of his engine told Sentinel that he didn't mind their current positions.  Which was good, 'cause he had no desire to move any time soon.  And Rodimus made for a comfy berth.

Of course, the moment couldn't last.  Rodimus gave a annoyed groan, and began to wriggle about beneath him.  "Sentinel," he groaned, "move.  You're heavy."

The insult was powerful enough to send Sentinel throwing himself across the room.  "Excuse me?!"

Rodimus could only laugh, crawling up onto his hands and knees.  There was a mischievous gleam in his optic that Sentinel decidedly did not like.  "Heh, it worked.  You really _are_ sensitive."

"Twice!  You come into _my_ house, and insult me _twice_!"

"Come off it Sentinel.  We had fun, didn't we?"

"Well, uh, yes.  Yeah, I guess we did."  He paused, clutching awkwardly at his knees.  "What exactly was up with that, by the way?  That whole 'Magnus' thing?"

Rodimus shrugged.  "You seemed like role-playing would be your thing.  And from the looks of it, I was right."

"Role – what?"  What the Pit was this little hot shot on about?  'Role playing?'  What playing?!  Sentinel took his trysts very seriously, thank you very much.

"Ah, it doesn't matter," Rodimus laughed.  Something wasn't right here though.  His engine was racing, his vents, still streaming a noisy flow of air.  "So anyway, Sentinel, here's the deal.  Since you got to be Magnus in our little game –"

"Game?!"

Rodimus continued, as though he hadn't been interrupted.  " _I_ get to choose how we finish the night."  He smiled, a wicked mischievous smile that had Sentinel quite worried over his own welfare.  That was the face of a mech planning something devious.  But like the Pit was Sentinel Prime going to admit to fear here.

"Okay then, what is it you want to do, _cadet_?"

Rodimus's grin, wide already, managed to grow even bigger, and _finally_ , he allowed his own spike to pressurize.

"Since you didn't actually finish me off back there, I'm requesting permission to spike you _now_ , Sentinel _Magnus_."

When put like that, how could he refuse?  But Jazz could never know.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only been sitting on that one forever.


	3. Threesome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After his previous encounter, Sentinel is left with a feeling of ennui. And the cure for that ennui? A threesome!

Cliffjumper had been a bust.  He accepted that.  Rodimus had also been a bust, and that one was a bit harder to deal with.  True, Sentinel was prettier than Rodimus, more important than Rodimus, and just all-around better on every level, but Rodimus may well have been the best casual frag he'd ever had.  And to see him, the very next day, gallivanting off with Hot Shot, of all bots?!  That . . . that one actually stung.

"Man, Hots and me were going through a rough patch right there.  I thought I was losing interest, but then – after last night?  I realized exactly where it was I am needed!  Thanks buddy!  I couldn't have done it without you!"

How _dare_ he?!  Sentinel Prime was the best of the best when it came to the art of a good frag!  And Rodimus decided he'd rather be with _that_ scrawny, rankless aft?!  It didn't make any damn sense!  And he made sure to tell Jazz just as much as he bawled over his drink in Maccadams later that night.

"I don't get it Jazz!  Why – why wouldn't he want me?  Is it – am I not good enough for him?  I'm Ultra Magnus's right hand mech!  How am I not good enough?!  I – I wanna be good enough.  What do I gotta do to be good enough?!"  He did not let out a long and unflattering bawl at that, but he came pretty damn close.

Jazz patted him on the back with a put-upon sigh.  "There there, buddy.  I shouldn't've hooked you two up.  I thought you were just lookin' for a one-night stand – no strings attached, and Roddy was – well, he was curious.  Poor kid's life's gotten all topsy turvy lately.  I'd tell you the deets if I thought you'd care."

"Thanks Jazz, you know me so well."  This time, he didn't bother holding back the sob.  "I just – I thought we really had something there, y'know?  He got me so good.  He _understood_ me!  I – I let him do things no one else could even _dream_ of."

Jazz, ever so admirably, kept up the back-patting, though he seemed to have developed a mysterious hitch in his voice.  "Oh – is that, ah, so?  Well, that is – _man_ that sure is – a bummer.  But hey, you don't need no one like that, yeah?  What you need is –"

"A threesome!" Sentinel proclaimed, loudly enough to turn a few heads.  All it took was one vicious, drunken glare to turn them back.

"I was gonna say a _break_ ," Jazz sighed, "but _you're_ the boss."

And that was all it took to get Jazz on the case.  Sentinel liked that about Jazz.  He was dedicated.  He was what every good little Autobot should have been.

But three days passed, and Sentinel was still without his threesome.  Perhaps Jazz could have tried a bit harder.

"Sorry boss.  Finding one bot willing to spend the night with you is a pain in the afterburner – two?  Well, that'd be like finding a double rainbow in Kaon.  It ain't gonna happen.  I've been snoopin' around, but I ain't having no luck.  This quest might be impossible to finish."

Well, wasn't that just like the mech, to give up after three days of searching!  Why couldn't Sentinel surround himself with good, hardworking, _useful_ mechs?

"You know what Jazz?  That's fine!  You're off the case."

"Sentinel, don't be like that.  Maybe you should give up on this threesome thing.  It ain't gonna be good for you."

"It's what I _need_ , Jazz.  I thought you of all mechs would get that."

"I get it all right," Jazz sighed, "but I'm not sure you do."

"And just what do you mean by _that_?!"

Jazz shook his head.  "It don't matter, my mech.  I'll keep up the search, just – ah – just don’t expect too much, yeah?"

Sentinel didn't like the defeated tone in Jazz's voice, but for once in his life, he decided to let the issue drop.  After all, he'd come up with a better idea.  He would find his threesome _himself_!  He was a self-sufficient mech – second in command of the Autobot military.  Why had he even _bothered_ trusting his romantic entanglements to _Jazz_?  That mech knew nothing about romantic entanglements!  He was more single than _Sentinel_ was!  At least Sentinel had gotten laid recently.

But yes.  Sentinel was going to go out there, find two bots that _really_ liked the idea of being seduced by him, and take them to bed.  No sweat.  Jazz had no idea what he was talking about.

~~~

Okay, maybe Jazz had _some_ idea what he'd been talking about.

Sentinel had been questing all week, asking every attractive bot he laid eyes on whether they'd be up for a threesome with himself and a willing third.  And yet, there were no biters.  So maybe the leader of the Elite Guard wasn't quite able to find the elusive sort of mechs he sought.  It was a gloomy thought, but one that seemed to be proving itself fact with each probing question.

But perhaps he was approaching this the wrong way.

He and Jazz both had failed to find a willing pair, and what did they have in common?  They were Elite Guard, that was what.  Maybe it wasn't the Elite Guard they needed?  Maybe, what they needed was Cybertron Intelligence!  If anyone was going to know just what sort of mechs would be up for some happy fun times with the great Sentinel Prime, it would be their lot.

"And so you see, you've got to help me," he said to Longarm Prime as he sat at his desk, listening to Sentinel's sob story.

"I need to help you," Longarm echoed, skeptical.  "I know I'm still fairly new to the Prime business, but I'm not entirely certain I see how getting you laid is a matter of planetary security."

Sentinel barked a sharp laugh at that.  "Oh Longarm, so young, so naïve.  Cybertron as we know it is pretty much over if I don't find me a threesome."

"So you've said," Longarm nodded, "but I still fail to see the connection."

"Never you mind that.  Your job isn't to see the connection; it's to follow my orders.  And my orders are to find me two mechs, preferably a couple, though I am flexible on that count, who are willing to sleep with the great Sentinel Prime.  Shouldn't be too difficult."

Longarm frowned, as though lost in thought.  "Hmm, no.  No I suppose not."

"You got someone in mind?" Sentinel asked, cocking his head.

The smile that Longarm responded with was more than a little unnerving – not that Sentinel ever would have admitted it.  "Perhaps."

And that had been that.  The mission was in Longarm's hands now; Sentinel heard nothing more of it for another week.  It was the week from hell.   _Primus_ , he needed to get laid.  Badly.

When Agent Blurr, with his sleek, gorgeous, vivid, exotic Velocitronian frame trotted into his office to deliver a report, it was all Sentinel could do not to jump his struts right there.

_Stick to the plan_.

He'd managed to refrain, if only just, but it was an uphill battle.  At least until he started talking.  Blurr may have been the _other_ second-hottest mech on Cybertron, but it was impossible to focus on his sexiness when forced to listen to his high-pitched, nasally voice and rapid speed ranting.

"I'm here with a report from Longarm Prime who says that's he's found a solution for your rather unique and not entirely relevant problem, but he would like you to accompany me with him to the address that I've just submitted to your commlink so that he can introduce you to the prospective couple, if that is all right with you, Sir.  It occurs to me that some time has passed since you gave that order, and perhaps your tastes have –"

"Enough!" Sentinel snapped.  The chatty agent didn't seem particularly perturbed by the interruption.  He was probably used to it.  Which, were he as smart as everyone said he was, would have seen him, perhaps, truncating his rants for the common audial.  What an idiot.  "Just, do whatever it is Longarm wanted you to do, and then leave me alone."

Agent Blurr frowned, resting his hands on his hips in a dangerous show of indignation.  Sentinel should have found it worthy of punishment, but somehow, all he could think was, _He looks really hot like that._  And then he started talking again.

"Longarm Prime wanted me to report to you and then escort you to that location.  Weren't you listening?"

_Surely_ he knew that Sentinel had better things to do than pay attention to his meandering rants.  Or maybe he was being patronizing?  Was that it?  Was this stupid agent _patronizing_ him?!  Sentinel narrowed his optics and folded his arms over his broad chest.   _Two_ could play at that game.

"Of course I was!  I knew that!  I was just testing to see if _you_ were paying attention."

Blurr didn't look entirely convinced, but he let it slide.  "Well then, Sir, if you're still interested in what Longarm Prime has to offer, then allow me to lead the way to the location that he's picked out for you.  I'm sure you will be very happy with it."

Sentinel narrowed his eyes.  Had he heard all that all right?  Because it _almost_ Sounded like Blurr had said something along the lines of _'Maybe if you had been paying attention, I wouldn't have to repeat myself so much,’_ somewhere between 'picked out for you' and whenever he managed to shut himself up.  But even the agent wouldn't be _that_ stupid.  Would he?

Sentinel decided to drop it.  Truth was, he _was_ very horny, and Agent Blurr was going to cure him of that.  So he forced the words of protestation from his vocaliser, and followed the sleek little chatterbox across the city, tolerating complaints about his lack of speed, and bitter commands to 'hurry up' all the way to the Grand Trionian Hotel.  A hotel?  How typical.  He would have much preferred his own abode, but he couldn't be picky.  Not now.  Not when he was so close to the threesome that would cure him.

Agent Blurr led him all the way to a room on the sixteenth floor, taking him so far as the door (room 1620), and then he was making to open it.  Well, that was quite enough right there.

"You don't gotta lead me anymore.  I think I got it."

Blurr folded his slim arms across his generous chest.  Mmm, Sentinel rather wanted to run his tongue down that windshield . . . damn, he needed to get laid.

"With all due respect, Sir, my presence is required, so I will not be leaving you, as much as I kind of want to.  Alas, curiosity is staying my hand – I'm not here against my will of course, but sometimes I do question Longarm Prime's decisions."

What?  What did that mean?  There were certainly a zillion other words somewhere in there that Sentinel had missed, but they were clearly irrelevant.  What _was_ relevant was the fact that apparently Agent Blurr was part of this upcoming threesome.  Score!

He reached out, running a hand down the pretty little thing's backplate – tracing the unique pattern of his biolights, but he got no response.  Primus, he hoped Blurr wasn't so boring once he actually got in the berth.

Sentinel's optics didn't register the movement, but apparently Agent Blurr had reached out to activate the door's touch sensors.  It was sliding open now, to reveal the mysterious third member of their night of fun and fornication.  It was not quite what he'd been expecting.

"L-Longarm Prime?!"

Indeed, the portly little troll of a Prime was standing with his back to the door, staring out the window upon the city below.  Suddenly, this was seeming like less of a good idea than it had been before.  Blurr was perfect.  He could fuck Blurr sideways and then come back for seconds.  But Longarm?  Seriously?  He was short, he was tubby, he had a stupid face and those weird _arms._ It was the opposite of everything Sentinel Prime found hot; would he even be able to get his systems going?

"Indeed," Longarm said, turning away from the light of the window, and allowing the shutters to close behind him.  The Grand Trionian was a high class establishment, yes, but anyone would turn a suspicious optic on two Primes and a member of the Elite Guard having a rendezvous in such a place.  They were going to need all the privacy they could get.  Provided a rendezvous occurred in the first place.

"Is this arrangement not to your liking?" he asked.  Something in Sentinel's face must have given his disgust away.  That, or Longarm was fully aware of just how undesirable he was.  Frag, he was probably a virgin too, wasn't he.  That was _also_ the opposite of what Sentinel wanted.  At least for the moment.

"Well, I mean, Blurr is fine, but you . . ." Sentinel waved vaguely about Longarm's visage.  From beside the berth, Agent Blurr gave an annoyed huff.  When had he gotten there?  And what was with the attitude?  Any mech should have been grateful to have the chance to interface with _the_ Sentinel Prime.

"Longarm Prime is a more than adequate partner!" Blurr snapped.  "You insisted on a threesome, but to be honest, there aren't a whole lot of  mechs out there willing to sleep with you as it is, let alone two mechs willing to sleep with both you and another, and believe me, I wouldn't be here at all right now if Longarm wasn't here, so you either take both of us or you get neither of us, and seeing how very desperate you are, I'm thinking that second option would not be preferable to . . ."

Primus, did this mech ever shut up?  Sentinel marched over to the berth with the intent of pulling the little chatterbox into a deep kiss to shut him up, but something thick and rubbery had wrapped itself around his arm, restraining him, and allowing that clueless little nuisance to keep right on blabbing away.

" . . . And what exactly is it that you're trying to do to me?  Do you really think you could make me do anything I don't want to, because let's face it, if you do, then you're not the most observant fellow, are you.  Just while saying this I've been out and back three times.  Am I telling the truth?  You wouldn't know if I was, because you're too –"

"That's quite enough, Agent Blurr," Longarm said, calmly, sweetly, and with a weird air of danger.

"Yes sir!" Blurr barked, saluting.   _Saluting_?  Well, Sentinel supposed it was good that he remembered his rank at least _some_ of the time.  Though what he'd picked up of that recent burst of blather had sounded unacceptably scathing.  Perhaps this was a bad idea after all?

"I apologize, Sentinel Prime," Longarm said, releasing his arm.  Oh.  That rubbery restraint had been Longarm's _arm_!  Gross.

"What in the Pit?!  Don't fraggin' _do_ that!"  He clutched the sullied arm to himself, as though it were broken.  It may as well have been!  Who knew _what_ sort of creepy side effects distorting your own frame so drastically could have?

"My apologies.  I am aware that I am not what your average mech would consider attractive, and I am also aware of how very important appearances are to you, but as Agent Blurr said, your stipulations were simply too high.  I was able to convince Agent Blurr to join us, but otherwise, I'm afraid you're on your own here."

"'Convince?'"  Oh _man_!  Had Longarm _ordered_ Blurr here?  Who'd have thought the guy would have it in him?  And what was with that dark glare that had passed over Longarm's face?  That was weird.  "Y'know?  Never mind.  I don't need to hear all of the sordid details."

"So, will you be joining us to live out your brief and much over-hyped fantasy evening like the base mech you so very much like to pretend that you're not, even though everyone who's worth their weight in over in Intel knows exactly what you've been up to recently, and are, quite frankly, unimpressed?  Or are you going to be turned off by Longarm's appearance despite the fact that he is actually pretty dang good when it comes to interfacing, or so I've heard from down the grapevine – certainly better than what I've been hearing about _your_ prowess in the berth, or lack thereof, and back out, and return back to the Metroplex to mope over the fact that you can't find two mechs crazy enough to sleep with you.  Maybe you should try those half-Decept –"

"Well, I think what Agent Blurr is trying say is, 'What, oh great Sentinel Prime, do you have to say to this arrangement?'"  The forcefulness of that statement was a little odd, but Sentinel let it slide.  After all, he was tired of hearing Blurr talk too.  It was better that whatever it was he was saying underneath his many, _many_ words, was brought forth in a clear, concise manner.  Also, was it just him, or was Agent Blurr awfully frank for a mech addressing his superior?  Sentinel was going to have to fuck some respect into him.

But he could only do that if he agreed to sleep with Longarm too.  What a dilemma.

"Very well then.  I'll take you up on your offer.  Let's do this."  He moved to the berth in the middle of the room, annoyed at the way Blurr skittered over it and closer to the window, as though repulsed.  Even after he'd sat down on that inviting surface, neither of his partners made a move.  " _Are_ we doing this?"

Longarm and Blurr traded glances, and possibly a few communications, based on the way they didn't _stop_ glancing at each other for a good five seconds.

"Hello?  Prime on the berth here, in need of some lovin'."  He tapped the malleable surface beside him insistently.  And then Blurr was there, standing inches away, with one of his long legs propped up on the berth, and the other between Sentinel's legs.  He leaned in close, hands drifting out to rest on Sentinel's shoulders.  Holy frag, that was hot!

"How exactly do you want this to work, Sir, what with you being in charge and all?"  He leaned in to nibble at the side of Sentinel's jaw and there went his mind.  Had the mech asked him a question?

"Huh?"

"I believe," said Longarm, still standing near the window.  He seemed both perturbed and aroused watching the display.  "That Agent Blurr is asking you for a little direction, Sir.  There are many ways this could go, and though I know how _I'd_ prefer it went, this is supposed to be about what _you_ want."

Longarm's words sort of made sense, but also Blurr had slid into his lap, propped up on his knees to continue his exploration of Sentinel's jaw, and to be honest, Sentinel would much rather pay attention to _that_.

"Well Sir," Blurr said, between a series of surprisingly slow and sensual kisses, "If you don't have an answer, then I will be left without a sense of direction, and without a sense of direction, I'll have no choice to fall back on old habits, and by old habits, I mean, taking orders from my direct superior, who in this case, is Longarm Prime.  Don't you think that makes sense?"  He didn't give Sentinel time to get a word in, instead moving his kisses upwards, until he at last found Sentinel's mouth, and diving right in.

Blurr was certainly fast.  That made sense, Sentinel supposed, but damn, one moment he was here, the next he was there – his hands had ventured southward, up and under Sentinel's grill, teasing at the sensitive seams there, before dipping out, back up to stroke at the halves of his plow, and then further up, entangling themselves in the smokestacks that framed his face, all without pulling away from the kiss.  Sentinel didn't mind.  He liked the taste of Blurr.  He'd like it even better if he had any semblance of control here.

His hands wrapped themselves around Blurr's waist, pulling him in with a sudden jerk, until their frames were as flush as could be managed, though the action broke the kiss.  If Blurr had been surprised by the sudden movement, he didn't show it.  Instead, there was an infuriating smirk on his face, and a mischievous twinkle in his optic, that was doing a fair job of chasing away all rational thoughts from Sentinel's head.

"Well?"

"Huh?"

"Do you want me to obey your every command?" he punctuated the question by grinding his hips against Sentinel's frame.  Hmm.  Could he make him do that again?  "Or are you willing to let Longarm take control?  I promise you it'll be worth your while."  He sank down, this time, aligning their interface panels, grinding them against one another in one long, sensual movement, before rising back to his knees.

"Uh what?  Yeah, sure, whatever."

"Glad to see you've made the right choice!" he gave Sentinel a quick peck on the cheek, and then, he was suddenly standing on the other side of the room.  What?  No!  How had that happened?!  Sentinel could've sworn that he'd had a good grip on that sweet, slender frame!

"Blurr, what gives?!" he snapped.

"You've granted us permission," said Longarm, with the most wicked grin on his face.  Note to self: don't piss off Longarm.  "Now we shall be doing this _our_ way."  He reached out with one of his weird, rubbery arms, and wrapped it around Blurr's slender, squeezable waist, again and again and – it was enough to make Sentinel queasy.

"I – wait, what do you mean _your_ way?"

"I mean," Longarm began, but he did not finish, instead pulling Blurr into a deep and passionate kiss.  There was some frantic flailing of limbs, awkward backstepping, and a quick spin, and then, the pair landed on the berth beside him, Blurr sprawled out across Longarm's frame, tracing every seam with his eager tongue and fingers.  Frag, Sentinel wished he was Longarm right about now.

"Longarm and I are going to be directing this affair from here on in, as per your express orders.  Whatever we do, you will go along with, and you will enjoy.  If you're lucky, I _might_ let you spike me," Blurr said, offering Sentinel a smug, sideways grin from his position atop Longarm's chest.

"Wait, what?  That's not what I signed up for!"

"Really?" Blurr pouted.  "But you said so.  You said that you would relinquish your power to us for this session.  I have audio evidence of it, if you don't believe me," he pulled a recorder from his subspace with one hand, while the other had partially disappeared into Longarm's mouth.  Longarm of course, began sucking on those long fingers, and hot damn!  His interface protocols were already trying to activate themselves.

_"Or are you willing to let Longarm take control?  I promise you it'll be worth your while."_

_"Uh what?  Yeah, sure, whatever."_

It took a moment for the audio to register as actual words with Sentinel, but yes, that was in fact a recording of him agreeing to . . . whatever the hell _this_ was.  And if nothing else, Sentinel was a mech of his word.  Unless his word happened to be inconvenient for him at the current moment.

"Are you kidding me?  That's coercion, Agent Blurr!  I was in no state of mind to be agreeing to such things!  You took advantage of my distracted state, and I disapprove!  Now, get off of him, and – wait, what are you doing down there?!"

Blurr had suddenly thought to place himself on the floor at Sentinel's feet, right between his knees.  It wasn't exactly where he'd wanted him, but he'd take it.

"Sentinel Prime, Sir?  You talk an awful lot for someone in your position.  Just relax and let us take care of you."

_'Us?'_

Sentinel jumped as the rough feeling of rubber brushed against his wrist.  There was Longarm with his stupid _arms_ again!  "Do you mind?" he snapped, turning his head to glare at the mischievously-grinning little Prime.  Evidently, he didn't, as he kept right on . . . wrapping his arms around Sentinel's own, and using his newfound grip to maneuver said arms into a position of immobility.  Sentinel had been bound by Longarm's stupid trick.  This was ridiculous!  He had half a mind to –

Oh, and that was Blurr's tongue lapping at his interface cover.  What was it he was going to do?  Nothing seemed quite so important as watching the pretty little Speedster work his magic.  He looked so content down there too, with his optics shuttered, hands placed gently on either of Sentinel's thighs, thumbs stroking at the seams where they met his body.  He needed to save this image forever.

"Are you going to open Sir?  Or are you just going to sit there staring at me?" Blurr griped, drawing his hands away as punishment.

"Impatient, aren't you?"  But that was fine.  Sentinel didn't feel much like playing around either.  He withdrew his interface panel, allowing his spike in all of its majestic glory to slide from its sheath, brushing along the side of Blurr's face in its escape, and smearing the tiniest bit of transfluid with it.  Beautiful.

He'd half expected Blurr to complain, but for once, he had no words to say.  His hungry gaze had settled on the spike, and his hands soon followed, holding it steady long enough to get his mouth around it – just the tip at first.  And then, with surprising control over his speed, he worked his mouth down the shaft, deeper and deeper until his face was flush with Sentinel's pelvis, the tip of his spike dipping into the back of his throat, which constricted around it in a steady pulse.

_Frag._

And then he was off.  Anyone who'd met Blurr knew that he was fast, but Sentinel still managed to be impressed at how precise his movements were as well.  Feeling that tight, wet little mouth sliding along his length, again and again and again in rapid motion was amazing, but more so was the fact that Blurr's super speed hadn't kicked in and sent Sentinel flying into the nearest wall in the midst of their fun.  Not that Blurr _could_ send him flying into any walls.

But Primus, what he wouldn't have given for his hands back, to be able to reach out and grasp Blurr's helm, his antenna, and control the pace himself.  Just the thought of having so much power over Blurr's movements left him feeling intoxicated.  He struggled against Longarm's bindings with a (not remotely pathetic) ~~whimper~~ groan.

"You can look, but no touching," Longarm whispered into his audial.

"W-what?  What hot slag is that?!  W-we're touching now!"

"He can touch you," Longarm said, his voice smooth and calm, and just a touch sadistic, "But you can't touch _him_."

"How's _that_ fair?!" Sentinel growled, struggling against his restraints.  Doing so, however, caused Blurr to pull away from his spike.  Scooting backwards to watch with curious optics.  "N-no!  Don't stop!"  Dammit, what was wrong with this picture?

"What do you think, Agent Blurr?  Should we be rewarding such a naughty mech?"

"I wouldn't know about _that_ , Sir," he responded, thoughtfully, "punishment is one thing, but I admit Sir," and hey, would you look at that?  Blurr was straddling his lap again.  Sweet slag on a pleasurebot's tailpipe!  What would he have to do to keep Blurr right here the rest of the night?   _And_ he was moving closer – closer . . .

Primus, frag it all.  Blurr had risen up on his knees, as high as he could go, his frame pressed tightly to Sentinel's, only so he could lean over his shoulder and, judging by the lewd sounds behind him, engage in some deep and intimate glossae-play with Longarm back there.  Sentinel couldn't even turn to watch the show without interrupting it.  Fraggers, the lot of them!  He cleared his throat loudly, in an effort at getting their attention back on the important thing.

"I'm not too keen on being punished myself in the process," Blurr finished, then sank back into Sentinel's lap, grinding his still-closed array against Sentinel's desperate spike.

"Ugh, stop talking and get on my spike, already!" he snapped, at the end of his tolerance.  Just what game were these sneaky spies playing?!

"Are you _really_ going to let him talk to you like that, Agent?"  Hmm, and now _Longarm_ was leaning over his shoulder, his face close to Sentinel's now.  His warm glossa made a point of travelling down the side of Sentinel's cheek.  He would have thought it gross, but the hungry way in which Blurr's optics followed it was well worth a few oral solvents from his least-favorite Intelligence agent.

Hot Damn.  If only he had use of his hands.  He could somehow make this situation work in his favor.

"Is there something you would like to say, Sentinel?"

At Longarm's comment, both pairs of optics were now on him.  How was he supposed to answer that?  Where had that question even come from?  "I . . ."  Before he could even come up with an answer, Blurr was grinding against him again, and damn it all, there went his mind!

"Ah, perhaps too difficult a question for the moment.  Perhaps instead, I should ask, 'is there something you want?"

"Yes, damn it all!  Yes!"  He barked out.  They were toying with him, the both of him.  And he didn't even care.  All he wanted was to fuck Blurr hard, and it was kind of hard to do that with Longarm holding onto him the way he was.  Maybe this whole threesome thing hadn't been that great of an idea in the end.

"And that is?"

"Stop playing dumb, Longarm!  And Agent, stop playing around and get on my spike already!"

The grinding stopped, and Blurr, little sadistic bastard that he was, turned his wide, innocent gaze up at Sentinel in a clueless way.  "Playing?  That's really mean, Sir.  I never play.  I sometimes tease, but I never play.  Also, I don't think I appreciate your tone very much.  Perhaps I should aa-ahh!"

At first, Sentinel was confused as to why Blurr had cut himself off in such a dramatic way.  Then he saw Longarm's hands.  Creepy, stretching things that they were, they'd managed to extend themselves beyond Sentinel's restraints, to place themselves on Blurr's frame – one cupping his aft, the other, sliding up his belly and under his chest plate, and frag, that was exactly what Sentinel wanted to do right now!  Stupid Longarm, stealing his ideas.

Admittedly, it _was_ kind of nice to see that desperate, needy look on Blurr's face.  And that was to say nothing of the way he arched into the touches, contorting his frame to take in maximum pleasure.  Sentinel wanted to see the little guy bend like that for _him_.

But Longarm was retracting his hands all too soon, and poor Blurr tried his hardest to follow their retreat without actually moving from his spot.  He may have even let out a frustrated _whine_.  Sentinel really needed to be recording this.

"Remember my rule, Sentinel," Longarm whispered into his audial, and okay.  Yeah.  That was kinda hot.

"Your – what?"  Sentinel was in no position to see Longarm's face at the moment, but Blurr was watching with curious optics, and that was a more pleasant sight anyway.

"I'll make it easier for you.  You cannot touch him . . . with your hands."  And with that, his restraints vanished.  Sentinel was free.  Sweet Primus yes!

He lunged forward, ready to pin Blurr beneath him and finally have his way, but Blurr wasn't there anymore.  Fucking glitched up little speedster.  Couldn't he stay still for a minute?  Or at the very least, move between destinations at normal speeds?

"Ah ah ah," Longarm said waggling his finger.  Freedom of movement had allowed Sentinel to turn around and look at Longarm for the first time, and oh look!  Blurr was in _his_ lap now, facing Sentinel, with his thighs spread around the little mech's _rather_ sizable spike, like some elaborate show.

It wasn't fair that a mech half a size class above a Minibot could be so well endowed.  And Blurr's interface panel had retracted as well, leaving his valve on full display, sliding up and down the length of Longarm's spike, though he didn't let it inside of him.  Must have taken a lot of control to pull off.  Sentinel wouldn't have been able to manage.

One of Longarm's hands moved to trace gentle patterns down Blurr's belly, while the other moved up to his throat, squeezing just enough to make Blurr's optics bulge, and his glossa loll out, and Primus, Sentinel might overload without so much as touching anyone.

"We're playing by my rules, Sentinel.  I expect you to behave."

"You expect too much," he growled in return.  His hand was already drifting to his spike, gripping it in his hand, and giving it a long rub.  He was going to get _something_ out of this experience.

"Now now, none of that.  Let me explain."

"Do I look like I'm in the mood for explanation?"

"No, but you _do_ look like you're in the mood to fuck Blurr.  Am I correct in assuming?"

_Yes.  Hell yes!  Yes to the hundredth power, holy FUCK he wanted to fuck Blurr._

"Maybe."

"Well, that is where we have a problem, you see?  Because Blurr.  Is.   _Mine_!"  With a sudden jerk, he pressed Blurr flush to his own frame.  The hand at his throat moved upward to cover his optics, and Blurr _writhed_ against him.  "And the thought of letting _you_ have him leaves me . . . it leaves me unhappy.  It makes me want to punish you."  His arm began to wrap around Blurr's slender frame, squeezing tighter and tighter, until Sentinel could hear his plating creak in protest.  That couldn't be healthy.

"Okay?"  Sentinel really didn't know how to respond.  Did this mean that they weren't having their little rendezvous after all?  Because that was just _rude._  Besides, if they left him disappointed, he could always report their affair to the Magnus. 

"He's a bit slow on the uptake, isn't he?" Blurr snickered, only to find Longarm's grip tightening even further.  "Ahh!"

"Yes, I agree."  Longarm's arms retracted, and instead he shoved Blurr into Sentinel's waiting lap, much to Sentinel's continued confusion.

"I thought you said you didn't want me to have Blurr?  Or, y'know, touch him."

"I'll make an exception just this once," Longarm sighed.  "The deal is thus – you can take Blurr, but if you do, then _I_ take _you_ too."

Sentinel could only stare dumbly as he let the meaning behind Sentinel's words sink in.  "You mean, you want to . . . to me?"

"It'll be like a little energon sandwich with you in the middle," Blurr explained, completely still for what seemed like the first time all evening.  "All in all, it's a really good deal for you.  You get to experience the full range of pleasure, while Longarm and I only get half the fun."

"Yeah, but," Sentinel protested, "I'd have to let Longarm spike my valve."

Longarm inched forward until he too was partially draped in Sentinel's lap, with Blurr pressed tightly between them.  "Have you never experienced both at once?"

Whatever answer Sentinel might have had was kicked to the curb the moment Blurr started squirming.  This right here?  This was nice.  Why couldn't they do that instead?

"Uh, how 'bout we both like, spike Blurr?"  Blurr seemed to like the idea, if the needy little whimper he'd just made was any indication.

"That's not what's being offered," Longarm growled.  Who'd have thought he could come off as that threatening, and yet, in a sexy way?  Sentinel could feel the vibrations of his words, all the way down in his spike.  "Either we do this as I described, or I kick you out, and take Blurr on my own.  Remember, your presence here is a privilege."

"Ugh, somebody just spike me already, I don't even care _who_ at this point!" Blurr whined.  But Sentinel reflected the sentiment.  He'd wanted this threesome.  And it was too late to go back.  Fuck it.

"Fine.  We'll do it your way.  Just . . . none of that stuff with the stretchy limbs.  It's creepy."

"Very well," Longarm agreed.

"Enough talk!  Frag it all, I'll do it myself!"  

Sentinel had expected it would be faster, but he really ought to have learned better by now.   Blurr exhibited a surprising amount of control as he positioned his tantalizing valve over Sentinel's spike and slid down.

_Finally_!  This was exactly what Sentinel had needed.  Or was close to it.  Blurr had started rolling his hips, riding Sentinel fast and hard (and his face was the cutest little mixture of pleasure and pain.  Delicious!), but Sentinel didn't want fast and hard.  He wanted to savor the moment.  If it was over too fast, what would there be to remember?

His hands dug into Blurr's hips, holding him steady; Blurr didn't fight it.  Nor did he fight as Sentinel shoved him down against the berth, one hand at Blurr's chest, pinning him in place, while the other held his own frame aloft as he thrust into Blurr at a significantly more comfortable pace.

Ah Primus!  Blurr was tight, and slick, and receptive; he was everything Sentinel had hoped for.  But Longarm?  He was just full of surprises.

Sentinel's change of position had opened himself up, granting Longarm full access to his own exposed array.  The thought left him a little nervous.  Sure, he'd let Rodimus spike him last time, but Rodimus was also the second hottest mech at Fortress Maximus.  Longarm was not that.  And sure, he was unexpectedly well-endowed, and he definitely had _way_ more sex appeal than Sentinel had anticipated, but he was still _Longarm_.  Would Sentinel be able to get around that knowledge long enough to enjoy himself?

He paused in his own thrusting, causing an annoyed grunt and desperate wiggling from Blurr.  It wasn't particularly easy to ignore, but Sentinel tried his damndest.

"Wait, Longarm," he said.  He could feel Longarm behind him (though he seemed somehow _larger_ than even before), his spike sliding along Sentinel's lubricant-slick valve, though Sentinel wasn't sure if he was being teased, or if Longarm was just having trouble getting in.  Nonetheless, he did stop at Sentinel's request.

"What is it?"  And yeah, his voice was deeper, huskier, sexier.  Daaaaamn it.

"Blindfold!"

"What?  What do you want a blindfold for?  I know you don't like the way he looks, but he's behind you!  You're not going to see him anyway.  And I know you get off on just _looking_ at me, which is really creepy by the way!  All that putting on a blindfold will do is – mmpfh!"  A hand clamped over Blurr's mouth.  He didn't need that irritating voice ruining the moment.  Besides, he didn't need _Blurr_ to tell him that his request made no sense.  He'd figured that much out himself.

“Just do it!”

Longarm didn’t seem to be moving, but somehow, he wound up with an optic inhibitor in hand nonetheless.  He didn’t say a word, but had it fastened to Sentinel’s face in a scant few seconds.  There!  He was blind now.  Couldn’t see Blurr’s pretty little frame beneath him, or have to worry about seeing Longarm’s at his back.  And not seeing made everything feel all the better.

“Is that better?” Longarm cooed.  Oh yes.  Yes that was.  Sentinel didn’t know if it was the blindfold or if Longarm had somehow tweaked his voice, but damned if it wasn’t incredibly hot to feel its vibrations against his audial.

“Hnngh.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.  Now, if you don’t mind?”

“G-go ahead.”

Longarm felt every bit as big as he’d looked.  Bigger even.  Something about that struck Sentinel as odd, but mostly he was enjoying the sensation of being stuffed for a change, so who cared?  There weren't a lot of Autobots out there that could satisfy _him_.  He’d have to remember this in the future.

And oh, he was moving, sliding slickly through him, brushing every node, lighting up every pleasure sensor, in, out, in out.

Blurr squirmed beneath him, trying his hardest to incite movement from Sentinel again.  Frag, it was going to be difficult to focus on both Blurr and Longarm at the same time.  It was hard to focus on anything at all.  The pleasure Longarm filled him with was enough to have his head spinning; Blurr was overkill.

But Blurr was grinding and groaning and – oh fine, Sentinel wanted him too.  He waited for Longarm’s next thrust, and moved with it, sliding deeper into Blurr, and yes – that felt even better than expected.  It couldn’t possibly get better than this – a beautiful, tight speedster on his spike, and a deliciously large spike in his own valve.  He was stuffed, and stuffing another at the same time, and even the barest awareness of that knowledge made his frame all the hotter.

They moved in their twisted unison for a long while – perhaps not so quick or graceful as Sentinel was accustomed to, but the sheer volume of sensation was more than worth it.  Pampered as he was, Sentinel was the first to overload, jerking into Blurr again and again, filling him with hot transfluid, irrespective of Longarm’s slower, controlled movements.  Never in his life had he experienced such an intense moment of pleasure.

Thoroughly drained, he couldn’t find the will to hold himself up; he collapsed onto the smaller form beneath him.  Longarm paused in his thrusting for a moment, letting him relax, and Blurr too remained patiently still, waiting to see if Sentinel was going to get back to it.

Sentinel was not.  He was done.  He wasn’t going anywhere.

“I thought _I_ was supposed to be the fast one,” Blurr griped.  “Come on, Sentinel Prime!  You’ve still got work to do!  Get off your lazy aft and finish me off here!  I’m _dying_!”  He wriggled half-heartedly, trying with all his might to incite further pleasure from Sentinel’s frame.

“Lazy?  Ugh,” Sentinel didn’t like the insult, but he didn’t have the energy to find the right words to retort.

Blurr gave a disgruntled little sigh, then began to wriggle in the other direction, shifting and shimmying until he was no longer trapped on Sentinel’s spike.  Sentinel felt suddenly cold without that warm body surrounding him.

“Hey,” he groaned.

“If you’re not gonna do it, then I’ll get _Longarm_ to.  But don’t worry, we’ll let you watch.”

“Mmm, good.”

Sentinel was a heavy mech – one wasn’t ripped as he was without having the size class to match, but Blurr somehow managed to force his way out from underneath him.  Longarm too, seemed to have caught up with the pace of events by now, and withdrew from Sentinel, climbing over his frame to pounce Blurr’s.

Or so Sentinel assumed.

“Hey!  You said you’d let me watch.”  The blindfold had felt great when he was sandwiched between two mechs, but now that he was on his own, able to hear the lewd rustling so very close, it just left him feeling helpless and annoyed.

“I _did_ say that, Longarm.  We may as well give him the chance.”

“And we _will_ ,” was Longarm’s reply.  But sight didn’t return to Sentinel.  Which was twice as frustrating, because the sounds continued – metal slapping into metal, soft moans and groans, fans blasting, and frames shifting, and _oh_ Sentinel wanted to be a part of it!  He could already feel the heat coursing through his frame once more, shooting to his spike – he was ready for more.  He wanted more.  Already, his hand was drifting back downwards, running down the length of it – not yet pressurized, but he could probably get a little more mileage from it this session.

“What are you guys _doing_?” he whined . . . No, not whined.    _Demanded_.

He was answered with a sharp yelp from Blurr, the sound of a Speedster frame hitting the berth, hard, and then frantic thrusting.  Frag, he wanted to _see_.  He almost could, if only in his mind.  Blurr on his belly, pressed into the berth, aft in the air – Longarm probably had a hand pressing down on the back of his neck – he seemed to like things like that, and driving into Blurr, hard and fast and how was he not splitting the poor guy in two?  Longarm was _huge_!  Damn, Sentinel wanted to see!  He _needed_ to see!

And then, he did.

The scene wasn’t too far from what he’d imagined, though Longarm now had one hand on the side of Sentinel’s helm as well, to disable the optic inhibitor, of course.  His optics too, were focused on Sentinel – smug, in a way that was entirely intentional.   _This_ was what Longarm wanted him to see – Longarm, on top of Blurr, buried in Blurr, pleasuring Blurr in a way that, truth be told, Sentinel hadn’t quite managed.  Blurr certainly hadn’t been quite so _squealy_ with him.

_You see this?  This is_ mine _.  I let you have him, because he was mine to give._ I’m _the one with the power here._

Longarm was one fragged up little mech.  That, or Sentinel’s imagination was running wild.  Either way.

Though somehow, the knowledge that Longarm, inferior mech that he was, had ripped the power out from beneath Sentinel without his knowledge made the encounter all the more enticing.  He stroked himself harder, faster, feeling the heat return to him, as Blurr overloaded, and Longarm after him.  It was beautiful.  It was twisted.  And it was so.  Damn.  Hot.

And then, it was over.

“Wait, where are you – what are you doing?”

Sentinel had been expecting some post coital cuddling at the very least, or maybe even a round two.  But Blurr had already stumbled back to his feet, surprisingly quickly, considering all the abuse his frame must have taken between Longarm and Sentinel.  And Longarm too had recovered with far more haste than anticipated.  He was crawling to his feet, completely ignoring Sentinel and his continuing need.

“You wanted to experience an interface session with two other mechs,” Longarm explained.  “Blurr and I have given that to you.  Our duty is complete.  We’re going to clean up, and get going.”

“What?  B-but you can’t leave yet!  We’re just getting started, right?”

Neither bothered to answer, instead heading for the washracks.  Blurr ducked in first, but Longarm lingered at the door, as though waiting for something.  Perhaps a companion?

“Okay, then maybe I could join you in there?”

Longarm turned to face him, slowly, deliberately, and somehow, as pleasant as the look on his face was, Sentinel couldn’t help but stare into that eerie light on Longarm’s forehead.  He almost felt as though _it_ were watching him back.  And though it had no expression, Sentinel thought it looked haughty.  

_What nonsense!_

“You may not.  Goodnight Sentinel Prime.  I am glad we were able to help you with your problem.”  And with that said, he closed the door, leaving Sentinel, still half-pressurized, all alone in the hotel room.  Frag the lot of them.  Longarm would pay for this . . . somehow.

For now, it looked like it was time to get reacquainted with his hand.

This was _not_ what he’d needed.


	4. Twins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why the frag does no one want to sleep with Sentinel? Maybe he'd be best served waiting for someone else to come to him for a change?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is Sentinel/Jetfire/Jetstorm, so if that is not your jam, you may wish to skip.

Sentinel's love life was fast shaping up to be the most embarrassing tale of shame and woe on the face of Cybertron.  Cliffjumper had rejected him.  Okay.  Whatever.  Rodimus had rejected him.  It hurt, but he'd survived.  Blurr and Longarm collectively rejected him and – and, okay.  Yeah, he was less thrilled about _that_.  Those two had rocked his world, and left him craving more.  And now?  They were inaccessible, not for lack of trying.

Seven times he'd approached one or the other, alluding to, suggesting, and in one instance, out-and-out _begging_ for another opportunity to share their berth, but by this point it was clear that their tryst had been a one and done deal.  There had to have been a reason that some of the hottest mechs this side of the Acid Wastes had rejected him, and then kept right on rejecting him.  Could there be something wrong with _him_?

Nah.

But the question remained.  Why couldn't he keep a date?  Was he destined to be forever alone?  And who better to ask than the great provider of answers – Jazz.

"You really oughta stop askin' me this.  I love ya, but seriously."  It wasn't like Jazz to complain, and yet here he was, sitting in their booth at Maccadam's, twirling a straw in his dentae, (Disgraceful!  Couldn't he just use it for his engex like everybody else?!) and looking for all the world like he wanted to be elsewhere.

"I don't understand," Sentinel frowned.  "I thought you _wanted_ me to be happy?"

And _there_ was a heavy sigh.  If Sentinel didn't know any better, he'd say that Jazz was angry.  But Jazz didn't do angry.  When he spoke, it was with the same calm tone he always used.  "I do, Boss.  But you just keep sabotaging yourself, and it's gettin' frustrating to watch.  I set you up with folk who come back to me after your date all angry from how you disrespected them, now I hear you're harassing Blurr and Longarm – Primus!  Would it kill ya to be a little more self-aware?"

"The frag are you talking about?" Sentinel laughed, "I'm the most self-aware mech ever."

Jazz laughed.  It was probably the worst thing he could have done at the moment.  Ignorant loser.  Sentinel bet that he was just jealous!  Maybe _that_ was why he kept setting him up with dysfunctional dates.  Probably was in cahoots with Longarm too.  Well then, fuck that guy.

"You know what, Jazz?  I don't gotta put up with this.  I can get a date on my own.  Just watch me!"  And Jazz did.  He watched Sentinel back out of the bar.  Probably kept watching even after he closed the double doors behind him, and made his way back to his own flat.  He was Sentinel Prime; who _wouldn't_ want to watch him?

. . .

Well, surely there had to be _someone_ he could bag without help.

But two weeks later he was still woefully single.  Jazz was being an evasive little scrap-bucket, which Sentinel, admittedly, had to give him props for.  The guy had somehow managed to drop off Sentinel's radar, despite the fact that they worked in the same department, with Sentinel as his superior.  He wasn't even breaking any rules or using up his leave time.  Cheeky bastard.

"Agent Jazz is off-world on a mission right now," Ultra Magnus explained, "As you _should_ already be aware of.  It was brought up at our last briefing."  Oh yes.  That.  Sentinel never listened during those.

"O-of course!" Sentinel replied in a haste.  "I knew that."  Smooth.  "In the meantime, I guess it's just you and me looking out for Cybertron all by our lonesome."

"Jetfire and Jetstorm are still yours to command as well.  You haven't forgotten them too?"

Ouch.  It seemed his cover had been blown.  Also, yeah.  The Jet Twins.  Weird little half-Decepticon freaks.  How could he forget about _them_?

"Of course not, Sir.  You, me, Jetfire, and Jetstorm."

"You, Jetfire, and Jetstorm," Ultra Magnus corrected.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I am going on vacation," he explained.

"Oh.  That's – that's great."

"So you're in charge while I am away.  I know you will perform to the same high standard I always expect from you."

"Oh, absolutely, Sir!  I won't let you down!"

~~~

_"I won't let you down!"_ he'd said.  What an idiot he was.  He'd just been left in charge of all of Cybertron, and _still_ all he could think about was his pathetic excuse of a love life.  Even _he_ knew how terrible that was.  It was the reason for his spectacularly bad mood of late.  And making it worse was the impossible stupidity of his current company.

The Jet Twins may have been created as a top secret Autobot super weapon, but the end result left much to be desired.  They were eager to please, sure, but a bit dim.  Jetfire kept staring at the ground somewhere behind Sentinel whenever he thought his superior's optics weren't on him.  Jetstorm would trip over his over-enthusiastic words whenever he was required to speak to Sentinel.  Both were often found giggling about some vapid little trifle or another – Sentinel didn't care _what_ the subject of the twins' discussion was.  Was it too much to ask for alert, competent soldiers?

"What are you gawking at?!" he snapped, causing both bots to leap to attention.  "The Decepticons have killed you twice over in your moment of distraction."

"Sorry Sir!" both twins barked back, pretending with all their might that they hadn't just been caught inattentive.

"We will to be doing better, Sir!" Jetstorm added.

"I should hope so.  Now, drop and give me twenty!"

The twins exchanges glances, before distinctively _not_ obeying Sentinel's order.

"Soldiers?" he spat, furious.  What was _wrong_ with them?

It was Jetfire to pipe up this time.  "It's just that – our alt modes are being very big.  We are not thinking there is room for them in here.  Maybe outside?"

"Don't you backtalk _me_ , Rookie.  Just for that, one _hundred_ transform-ups!"

"Y-yes Sir!" the hapless little bot squeaked.  Well, he wasn't _that_ little, but somehow, the two seemed like they should be smaller.  Oh yes, and he also had a point.  Jetfire and Jetstorm were attempting to transform inside the cramped room – a wing stuck out here, a nosecone bashed into a wall there.  Punishment was one thing, but property damage was not something he wanted to explain to Ultra Magnus upon his return.

"Whoa, whoa!  What do you cross-wired circuit breakers think you're doing?!"

"Transform-ups?" Jetfire asked.

"Are you nuts?!  There's no room for that nonsense in here!  Outside!  Go _outside!_ "

Getting out of the cramped room overstuffed with two partially-transformed jets was quite the process, but eventually Jetfire and Jetstorm were out on the grounds taking their punishment, exactly where Sentinel wanted them.  As for himself, alone and indoors, overflowing with ennui was not exactly where he _himself_ wanted to be.  But what was a bot to do?

A date.  He needed a date, and he needed one fast.  If only there was someone out there who was willing and available.

He sighed and plopped down at his desk, staring out past his mechs, hoping that somewhere out there, he could find whomever it was he sought.

~~~

Sentinel was hopeless.  He was horny.  He had only his hand for company.  And those stupid twins _still_ couldn't get their acts together.  Was it really so hard to mop a floor without whispering and giggling?  And every time he entered the room, they'd stop and – and _gape_!  What the frag did those half-witted greenhorns think they were staring at?

"You got a problem?!" he snarled, when Jetfire jumped to attention too slowly.

"No Sir!"

"Then stop your drooling and get back to work!"  What was _with_ these twins?!  He wished that he had paid more attention to Jazz's briefing before he'd left.  Had they always been like this?  Or was it simply because they thought they could get away with more when not under the Magnus's watch?

Fat chance!

Sentinel came down harder on the twins than ever before from that day on.  But somehow, the harsher the punishments he dealt, the more distracted Jetfire and Jetstorm became.  He couldn't understand why for the life of him.   _Normal_ bots loathed him and his strict hand, but Jetfire and Jetstorm?  It was almost as though they enjoyed it.

It must be a Decepticon thing.

Primus, Jazz couldn't come back quick enough.  Sentinel had never realized just how much patience that mech must have had until now.  He would never take Jazz for granted again, so long as he just took these damn twins off his hands!

"Sir?" said Jetfire, approaching him timidly.

"Yes?"

He hung his head and scuffed his foot – not at all behavior befitting a soldier.

"Just spit it out, Jetfire!  I don't got all day."

_That_ got him to stop beating around the bush.  He shot to attention with a salute, and in his loudest, most confident voice, barked, "Jetstorm wanted me to ask you how are we to getting such a magnificent chin as yours, Sir!"

What?  Were they mocking him?  It took everything he had to not hide his chin behind a hand.  There were some things a bot just didn't talk about.

"Do you think you're funny, cadet?"

Jetfire cocked his head.  "Only sometimes, Sir.  But right now is not being one of those times."

This time, Sentinel lunged forward, so suddenly that Jetfire flinched.  If he liked Sentinel's chin so damn much, then he was sure to _love_ it being all up in his face.  "Do I look like I am in the mood for _jokes_ , cadet?"

"No Sir," he said, albeit a bit uncertain.  “I – just . . . I mean, _we_ are just trying to compliment Sentinel Prime Sir’s roguish good looks.”

Sentinel’s processor stuttered.  What?  Roguish good looks?  There was _actually_ someone in this Primus-forsaken army that recognized beauty when he saw it?  And not just one someone, but _two_ someones?

He took a step back, looking Jetfire up and down.  He was a bit awkward, tall, skinny, with big, youthful optics, and minor kibble.  All in all, he was not _unpleasant_ to look at.  And his twin wasn’t bad either (where _was_ he, anyway?).  The Decepticon thing was a bit _weird_ , but Sentinel was horny and desperate, and he could look past an unfortunate origin story if it meant getting laid.  Besides, Decepticons were bound to be _monsters_ in bed.  And somehow, disloyal though it may have been, the thought struck him as kind of, well, _hot_.  The Jet Twins were a safe way to act upon an otherwise untoward fantasy.

Though speaking of . . .

They were both so _young_ , barely out of boot camp.  And naive.  And his _underlings_.  Could he really take advantage of that?   _They_ were the ones that came after _him_ , true, but it was his duty to refuse them, wasn’t it?  Was it?  There were technically rules against this thing at lower ranks, but in the Elite Guard?  There was no such rule.  Maybe that meant it was okay?

“Sir?  You are looking all flushed.  Are you being unwell?”

“N-no!” Sentinel barked, moving away.  “No, I - I’m fine.  I just . . . you really think my chin looks good?”  He tilted his head in such a way that Jetfire was bound to get the best view of Sentinel’s most impressive feature.

“Oh yes, Sir!  It is our favorite.  I am thinking that your broad, mechly shoulders are your second most sexy trait, but Jetstorm, who is not being so smart as I, thinks it is your shapely aft.  Every time we see you, we cannot help but to be staring.  Is that incorrect?  Should I to be doing transform-ups now?  I can do that.”  He made to drop to the ground, but a broad hand on that small chest stopped him.  Jetfire looked up, big, yellow (yellow?  Why yellow?  Normal bots had _blue_ ) optics full of innocent curiosity.

Primus, he was so young!  Had he even interfaced before?  Could Sentinel do this?  “Don’t worry about that right now,” Sentinel choked, backing away, only once he was sure that Jetfire was standing sturdily on his feet again.  “Where is Jetstorm?”

“Oh,” Jetfire chirped, “he is to standing behind that building, spying like a coward!  Also, his spark is all flutter fluttering.  And he is to be, um, gawking.  Do you want me to be beating him up for you?  I can do that!”  And very eager to please, it seemed.  And though he hated to admit it, that enthusiastic tone shot straight down to his spike.  Already, it was preparing to pressurize.

_No, dammit!  Not now!_

“Jetfire . . .”

“Yes Sir?”

“You and Jetstorm are dismissed!  Take the afternoon to yourself.  Go ahead and . . . I don’t know.  Go do whatever it is you want.  I don’t care.  I’ll stay here at the station.”

He didn’t miss the disappointment in those adorable optics.   _Bad Sentinel!  How could you do that to him?_

But when he spoke, it was with as much conviction as Sentinel had beaten into that thick head of his time and again.  “Understood Sir!  Jetstorm and I will be taking afternoon to ourselves.  Thank you, Sir!”  And with that, he scurried off, back in the direction of the building that Sentinel knew Jetstorm to be hiding behind.

He vented a sigh of relief.  Crisis averted.  For now.

It was time to go back to the command terminal and relieve some tension.  Yeah.  And he certainly would not be thinking about a pair of sweet, enthusiastic golden optics as he did so.  Nor slender, delicate fingers, or glassy chests, or . . . aw frag it all.  He probably would be.  But it was a secret he’d take to the grave.

~~~

He'd figured that wouldn’t be the end of it.  Ever since that day, when Jetfire had admitted his and his brother’s feelings for Sentinel, the twins had been more obvious in their pursuit.  He kept stumbling across them in places junior Elite Guard officers had no business being – the path to the wash racks, the path to the mess hall, the path to his own damn apartment, together or alone, posed in a way that they must have seen in some holocaster program or something, given how awkward it looked in real life.

_‘How strange for us to meet in a place like this, Sentinel Prime, Sir!  Waiting for you?  No Sir!  I have certainly not been waiting here for the past three breems, knowing that sooner or later, you were bound to pass by.’_

He should have found it all a little off-putting, but truth be told, it was nice to feel desired for a change.  Which was dangerous!  He couldn’t friggity frag his subordinates!  It wasn’t proper!  Even if they clearly _really_ wanted him.  And were damn sexy.  And he kept seeing them in his dreams.

Oh slag it all.  Maybe he would.  What would be the harm in it?  There were no rules that explicitly forbid dating _coworkers_.  And besides, Longarm was screwing Blurr; that was like, the same thing only worse.  Because Blurr was . . . um.

No, actually it was the exact same situation, only instead of being the Prime with the most bangable partner on all of Cybertron, he would be the Prime with the half-Decepticon flying freaks.

. . . Well, that wasn’t fair.  Jetfire and Jetstorm were both really cute, even if they _were_ freaks.  And they were infinitely easier to understand than Blurr was, and they didn’t even speak NeoCybex natively!  They’d be perfect if he wanted to have any sort of conversation the next day (and he _did_!  Really he did!).  

The more he thought about it – the sleek curves, the surprising power held in such skinny frames, the big, innocent optics of Jetfire, and the cool, confident smile of Jetstorm . . .  And they were just so willing, and eager, and oh _Primus_ , there was no way he could say ‘no’ to this.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to.

He came home that night to a flat that had been broken into.  The door was closed, locked even, but Sentinel Prime was not captain of the Elite Guard for nothing.  The little light above his access panel was blinking red; a sign that someone had entered without using his spark signature.  That was a bad sign.

Or a great one.  Depending on the identity of the intruder(s).

He pulled out his lance and shield, just in case his invaders were less than friendly, then (with some difficulty maneuvering), input the access code himself.  The door slid open, beckoning him into the darkness beyond.

There were noises – rough, rustling; moaning and groaning; the shriek of metal on metal, a slight yelp of pain.  Were they . . .?  Primus, he could picture it now!  Those two adorable little buggers so filled with pent up desire, running hot with their infatuated little minds dancing with fantasies of Sentinel Prime.  Surely they had grown impatient and turned to one another for comfort.  And they were so wrapped up in their own pleasures, that they hadn’t even noticed him as he came in!

Primus, that was hot!  His spike had begun to pressurize at the very thought.  He needed to see this!

Sentinel hit the lights, fully prepared to dive into the pile of jet, ready to ravish and dominate.

What he found was a pair of beat up bots on the ground, Jetstorm pinning his brother, albeit with a tenuous hold.  He was leaking energon from a busted lip plate, and his paintjob had bubbled up in places, as though subjected to extreme heat.  Jetfire, meanwhile, had amassed hundreds of little nicks about his struggling frame, and Sentinel didn’t miss the way energon and oil dribbled from the worst of them, staining his once-immaculate floor.

Actually, the whole room was a disaster.  Furniture was upended, data pads knocked from their shelves, knick knacks toppled, shattered, one of his windows blown out, and the scars of heat damage on every available surface.  This was not quite what he’d been expecting.  And somehow, despite the change in light, the pair didn’t seem to notice his presence.

“Jetfire!  Jetstorm!” he barked, and in a flash, the two leapt to attention – a very messy attention, but attention nonetheless.

“Sir!” they responded, albeit without the usual confidence.  He could see guilt in Jetfire’s expressive optics.  And Jetstorm’s lips had curled down into a distinctive frown.

“What is the meaning of this?!  What – _what have you done to my home_?!”

“Sir, it was to being Jetstorm’s fault!” Jetfire protested at the same time that Jetstorm said, “It was not being _my_ fault, but Jetfire’s!”  It was enough to establish an unhappy tic beneath Sentinel’s left optic.  His very expensive room had been trashed.  He wasn’t in the mood to play the blame game.

“I don’t care _whose_ fault it was!  Jetstorm, what happened?”

He didn’t miss the smug little smirk the irritating numbskull threw at his brother.  “I was to coming here, Sir.  To be meeting you in private, since I am knowing how charged you are being lately.”  Was it that obvious?  “But then Jetfire was stealing my idea!  He was coming too, and it was not very noble of him.  I was telling him to be going away, but he is refusing, so I am pushing him, and he is resisting, and then . . .”

“And then you destroyed my house.”

The Jet Twins looked around the room, as though seeing it for the first time.  In unison, they hung their heads.

“Yes Sir,” Jetstorm agreed.

“You are punishing us now, yes?” Jetfire added, timidly.  “We are to be fixing your house, yes?  And doing of the transform-ups?”

“What?  Yes,” Sentinel agreed.  “You will definitely be responsible for the damages . . .”  But he wasn’t keen to leave it there.  He should have been livid, and he _was_ to a degree, but somehow, he was also strangely flattered.  His house had been demolished because Jetfire and Jetstorm were fighting.  Over _him_.  He wouldn’t deny that the realization shot straight to his spike.

“Though I’m wondering why it did not occur to you to _share_ me.  That would have been a less disastrous solution, don’t you think?”

The twins stared at him with matching looks of blank confusion.

“Share?” they said in unison.

“You know . . . The two of you . . . Me . . . Simultaneous interface.”

The twins considered it for a moment, a matching perplexed frown on each pair of identical lips.  They didn’t seem fond of the idea, which was a damn shame.  After the event with Longarm and Blurr, Sentinel was eager for another threesome, a threesome in which _he_ was in charge, as was only proper.  Why couldn’t the twins be into that?

“Is that . . . a thing that can be doing?” Jetfire asked.

“Of course it is!” Jetstorm replied, smugly.  “It is so obviously obvious.”

Sentinel couldn’t believe he was truly entertaining this idea.  On the other hand, why the fuck not?  They clearly wanted him, enough so to demolish his house.  Who cared if it was a terrible idea?  Sentinel wanted to get laid; the Jet Twins wanted to get laid (had they ever actually interfaced before?), this was going to happen.

And maybe, once it did, they would stop making a royal nuisance of themselves.

“Jetstorm is right,” Sentinel confirmed, stepping closer, wincing at the crunch beneath his feet.  That had been his favorite Valvoluxian crystal energon cube.  Oh well.  At his approach, Jetfire and Jetstorm alike stood taller, closer, matching looks of eager anticipation on their faces. “I have done it before.  I can show you how.”  He reached out, taking first Jetfire's hand, and then Jetstorm's.  Both watched him with curious optics.

"Is this how we are to be interfacing?" asked Jetstorm.

That was when Sentinel yanked them in close, using the momentum to drag all three down to the floor in a more-painful-than-anticipated pile.  Truth be told, he wasn't entirely sure how he was going to go about doing this.  Blurr and Longarm had made it all seem so easy.

Well, Sentinel was in charge now.  He was gonna show Jetfire and Jetstorm an even better time than Intel's Tragedy-Waiting-to-Happen ever could.  And he was going to start by catching a feel of Jetfire's aft.  Very nice.  Kinda thin – he could wrap his hand around those thighs with ease, but he rather enjoyed a smaller partner.  It made him feel all the stronger.

Jetfire squirmed against him, pressing in close with a startled yelp.

“How’s that?” Sentinel asked.

“That is . . . being nice!” he squeaked.  Jetstorm grumbled, nuzzling his face into Sentinel’s neck.  “What about me?  Do me too!”

Oh Primus, yes!  He’d never felt so desired in his life, and they’d barely just begun.  At Jetstorm’s request, Sentinel slid his free hand down the adorable mech’s back, over his aft, to rest between his thighs, thumbing insistently at the panel that awaited him.  Jetstorm jerked forward with a startled whimper.

“Hahah, you are being too skittish, brother!” Jetfire laughed.

“It just means Sentinel Prime sir is liking me more than you!”

“That is being lies!”  Suddenly, two pairs of strong hands were grasping at his split plow, hoisting themselves closer to optic level.  In Jetstorm’s case, two thin thighs squeezed around his hand, trapping it in place.

“Tell us which of us you are liking better!” Jetfire demanded, while Jetstorm hissed, “Tell him I am right!”

To be honest, Sentinel felt pretty neutral towards the both of them.  As far as he was concerned, they may have been the same mech, distinguishable only by the color of their plating and special ability.  But why tell them that?  Why not twist their mutual need for approval to his own ends.

“It’s hard to say which of you I like better,” Sentinel shrugged, allowing his untrapped hand to travel up Jetfire’s body to stroke at his skinny throat, before coming to a stop at his jaw.  “You’ll simply have to sway my opinion.”

“Yes Sir!” both twins barked.  Sentinel felt like a god right now.  How great it was to have partners that properly appreciated his glory.  His fingers tickled at Jetfire’s jaw line, dipping into his eager mouth.  The fiery little jet faltered, unsure how he should respond to the unfamiliar intrusion.

“Suck,” Sentinel commanded, and Jetfire did so, enthusiastically, his glossa wrapping around each digit, savoring it as though it were a gourmet energon treat.

In the meantime, he kept up his insistent stroking of Jetstorm’s interface panel, which earned him further attractive squirming.  “Oh Sir!  That is feeling wonderful!”

“Of course it does,” Sentinel boasted.  “Now why don’t you show Jetfire the same courtesy?”

“Sir?”  The light behind Jetstorm’s visor flickered, confused.  It was rather adorable, his naivety.  But neither twin was doing much with their hands at the moment, and that was simply unacceptable!  And the idea of watching a pair of nearly-identical mechs pleasure each other was strangely arousing.

“Take your hand, slide it between his thighs, do the same thing I’m doing to you.”

Hesitantly, Jetstorm complied.  Jetfire’s shivering was all the indication Sentinel needed that Jetstorm was doing his job.  “Like this?” he asked.

“I don’t know, let’s ask Jetfire.”  He pulled his fingers from Jetfire’s mouth, and the little darling actually pursued them for a nanoklik.  His desire for Sentinel was the biggest possible turn on.  “How does it feel, Jetfire?”

“It feels – g-good, Sir.  But I am thinking I would rather have your hand down there.”  

Sentinel chuckled but did not grant Jetfire’s wish.  Instead, he cupped that chin, and brought that adorable mech’s face closer to his own for a deep kiss, his more experienced glossa wrapping around Jetfire’s.  He moaned into Sentinel’s mouth, melting against that superior frame, a little bundle of pleasure.  Sentinel could already feel his spike pounding against its casing, pleading for a nice warm hole to bury itself in.  This was gonna be good.

“Sounds like you’re doin’ a good job, Jetstorm.  You deserve a reward.”

“Sir?” he squeaked.

“Open for me.”

Despite his obvious enthusiasm, Jetstorm hesitated.

“Well?”

“I uh – I am never to having done this before,” he admitted.

“Well obviously,” Sentinel groaned, shoving his fingers back into Jetfire’s mouth, in lieu of his own glossa.  “Don’t tell me you don’t know how.”

“Errr…”

Primus, what was he doing?  A pair of mechs so inexperienced, they didn’t even know how to open their interface panels?  

“Look,” Sentinel sighed. “Let’s do this instead.”  The command was impossible to resist; he opened his own panels, allowing his spike to fully pressurize, rubbing against Jetstorm’s thigh.  The startled jet fumbled backwards in surprise, but recovered quickly enough.  He leaned in close, eyeing the magnificent thing in wonder.  Jetfire too, tried to shift his position to get a look.

“Pretty nice, ain’t it?” Sentinel chuckled.

“It is beautiful,” Jetstorm agreed, awestruck, and damned if that didn’t hit Sentinel right in the pride.  He wiggled his hips, causing the spike to sway about enticingly.  “I want you to put it in your mouth.”

“Sir?”

“Mmgph?” Jetfire mimicked.

“Go ahead,” Sentinel encouraged, stroking his hand up and down Jetstorm’s still-closed interface panel, eliciting a heavy shudder.  “Wrap your lips around it, take it into your throat – in and out, just like this:”  He demonstrated, shoving his fingers as deep into Jetfire’s mouth as they would go, before pulling them out to his lips, leaving that little bot straining to give chase.  Then he repeated the gesture, again and again; Jetfire’s optics half-shuddered, and he gave a soft moan.  “No dentae though.  Thing is sensitive.  Likes to be sucked, not bit.  Got that?”

Jetstorm’s face flushed.  “Y-yes Sir!”  

He hunched over, observing the smooth lines of Sentinel’s spike up close, reaching out with his glossa to give an experimental lick, and then, unsure whether or not he liked the taste, another and another, moving from the base of the spike all the way to the tip, greedily taking in the bubble of liquid that had already began to pool around the slit.  Then, he opened his mouth wide, and took it in.

Frag, it was good.  The warm wetness of the jet’s mouth was reminiscent of a real valve, and for a novice, he was good at mimicking the sensations of one.  He seemed a good student as well, following Sentinel’s instruction to the letter – taking his spike into the back of his throat, then all the way back to his lips.  It wasn’t _quite_ what Sentinel was looking for, however.  There was still room for improvement.  

He moved his hand from between Jetstorm’s legs, and grasped onto the back of his helm, forcing his partner’s head flush with his pelvis, then pulling him back at a faster rate than Jetstorm could have managed on his own.  He sputtered and snorted as he tried to compensate for the new speed and forcefulness, but he didn’t protest.  Sentinel honestly didn’t expect he would.

Jetfire however, did.  He squirmed and twisted against Sentinel’s side, grinding his own pelvic array into Sentinel in a desperate plea for attention.  Sentinel pulled his fingers from that sweet little mouth.

“Is there something you’d like, Jetfire?”

“Sir, I am wanting to . . . to suck your spike too, Sir,” he moaned.  It was so very precious, how could Sentinel deny him?  Too bad he only had one spike.  Instead, he diverted attention from directing Jetstorm, letting his fingers stroke encouragements into his helm, in order to direct proper attention into exploring Jetfire’s frame – a t least, as best as he could with Jetstorm’s sweet lips wrapped around his spike.

Sentinel’s fingers may not have been deft, but they did the job, dipping into whatever seams in Jetfire’s plating that they would fit into, poking and stroking his way down, down, down, until he was between those narrow thighs, seeking out the gaps in that pelvic plating.  There had to be a way to manually open it.  

Jetfire moaned and jerked, his thighs closing tightly around Sentinel’s hand.  “S-Sir!  That feels so good!”

“I can make it feel even better,” he promised.  He noticed Jetstorm’s pace slow, that cyan visor fixed on his face now.  “Keep going, Jetstorm.  You’ll get your turn soon enough.”  It was all the command he needed to assault Sentinel’s spike with renewed vigor, and frag it, he wasn’t going to last long at this rate.  Why couldn’t these damned jets just _open_ for him?

“Better, Sir?” Jetfire squeaked, his amber optics wide and eager.

Sentinel leaned in, until he was whispering in the little jet’s audial.  “You just have to open for me.”

All at once, his panel retracted, so quickly that it pinched at Sentinel’s fingers.  It hurt, but the satisfaction was well worth it.  “Well, look at that.”

“Please make it feel good, Sir!  I want it to feel good!”

Sentinel chuckled, and again, Jetstorm slowed his pace to watch.  Sentinel couldn’t blame him for curiosity.  “Very well.”

His fingers groped around until they found what they were looking for – the warm, wet opening of Jetfire’s valve.  He was so slick, it was easy even for two of Sentinel’s blunt fingers to slip in.  Jetfire jerked again, squealing.  Primus, he was so beautifully reactive.

“S-Sir!”

“Feels good, yeah?”

“Yes!  Yes, it feels great!”  

Sentinel allowed himself to play for a little bit longer, scissoring open the narrow passage wider, getting it used to the sensation of being stretched so, while Jetfire writhed all the while.  Yes.  This was going to be excellent.

“Jetstorm, off!”  Jetstorm pulled back, wiping his solvent-covered mouth with the back of his hand.  

“Sir?”

He withdrew from Jetfire as well, who whimpered, his protestation.

“S-Sir?”

“Jetstorm,” he said, with all the authority he could muster.  

“Yes Sir?”  That heavily-accented voice was cracking with anticipation, and Sentinel didn’t miss the tender way in which his jaw moved.  He nearly felt guilty for what he was about to do.  Nearly.

 Reaching across Jetfire, pinning the fiery twin neatly beneath his grille, he scooped up Jetstorm and tossed him a few feet away.  “Your orders are to watch what happens next.  Touch yourself if you have to, the same way I was before.”  He nodded towards Jetstorm’s thighs.  “I want to take you next, so you better be ready for me.”

Jetstorm cocked his head in confusion, but Sentinel paid it no mind.  He sat up, grabbing Jetfire easily in his massive hands, and maneuvering him onto his hands and knees, aft neatly presented in the air, showing off that beautiful, leaking valve.  This was going to be so, so good.

“S-Sir?” he squeaked.

Sentinel responded by aligning his spike with that opening, reveling in the moment of tension as it dawned on his partner just what was about to happen.  Then, without any further fanfare, he slid in.  He hadn’t prepared Jetfire enough; the new valve was still tighter than any he’d had.  The calipers, unused to adjusting themselves resisted his intrusion, and Jetfire, despite himself, had tensed further, half-panicked.

“S-Sir, it hurts!”

“You can do this, Jetfire,” he cooed.  “Just relax.”

“It hurts,” he whined again, “but I want you to keep going.  It – I like it.  Make it hurt more!”

Well, that was unexpected, but Sentinel wouldn’t deny that he liked hearing it.  Clutching Jetfire’s hips tightly between his hands for leverage, he forced himself deeper, forced those brand new calipers to stretch wide, forced those nodes to alight around him, forced himself deeper and deeper until he was flush with Jetfire’s aft.  Jetfire struggled, his arms scrabbling wildly and his vocaliser squealing uncontrollably.

“S-Sir!  It hurts so much!  Sir, I love it!  You’re so big Sir!  I love having you inside of me Sir!  Sir, don’t stop Sir!  Never leave Sir!  I love this so much Sir!  I love you inside of me Sir!  It hurts, but it hurts good Sir!”

Sentinel wasn’t going to last long at all if Jetfire kept up _that_ sort of talk.  He leaned forward, enjoying the way Jetfire struggled at the change in angle, and shoved his fingers back into that awaiting mouth.  Almost instinctively at this point, Jetfire began suckling again.  Finally, Sentinel could get moving in peace, thrusting into the squirming bot with an irregular rhythm, picking up speed as the valve began to relax.  It was certainly damaged by this point, and he could hear Jetfire sobbing around his hand, but he kept going, faster and faster with each thrust.

He took a chance to look towards the room’s other occupant.  

Jetstorm was watching, his visor alight with envy and lust.  He wanted his turn, no doubt.  But he kept following his orders, better than Sentinel ever could have hoped.  His legs were spread wide, giving Sentinel the perfect view of the plating that protected his valve, and those deft fingers working away at the gaps in the plating, trying their hardest to coax it open.

“S-Sir,” he whined.  “Sir, I am trying so hard, but it is not to be opening! I am not knowing what I am doing wrong.”

Sentinel gave a hard thrust; a shriek of metal sounded beneath him in a way that could not have been healthy, but Jetfire writhed and bucked, biting down on Sentinel’s fingers with his dentae, while his valve clamped down around Sentinel’s spike in irregular convulsions.  He’d overloaded, and at that exact moment, his twin’s panel flew open.  

Jetstorm threw his head back in ecstasy, an action that would have surely ignited any scientific curiosity Sentinel possessed, had he possessed any at all.  The combined force of Jetfire’s overload and Jetstorm’s reflected reaction, however, had Sentinel reaching his own overload, spilling hot transfluid deep into Jetfire’s tight valve with a heavy moan.

He collapsed forward onto his smaller companion, delightfully satiated.  Primus, he’d needed that.

“Sir?”

It wasn’t over yet.  There was still Jetstorm to attend to.  Sentinel needed to recover so that he could give his second partner what he deserved.  He wasn’t entirely sure he had it in him, but damned if he was gonna let that stop him.  He withdrew from Jetfire, who didn’t so much as move, lying flat on the mess that was the floor, his entire frame buzzing with spent satisfaction and aching exhaustion.  Sentinel didn’t miss the energon that trickled from his valve along with the transfluid, but he paid it no mind.  Jetfire seemed happy enough; it must have been a Decepticon-programming thing.

“Jetstorm.”

“Yes Sir?”

“I need a moment to recover.  But you can help me.  Keep touching yourself, just like that.  Give me a good show, and I’ll get my energy back faster.”

“O-okay Sir!  I will do!”  

His valve was on full display, fresh and new as his twin’s, and his spike too, had pressurized, thin and pretty, lined with cyan biolights that matched his visor.  Clumsily, he let his fingers brush against it, sitting up a little straighter at what must have been pleasant, and new sensations.  His fingers wrapped around the tip, exploring each seam, tracing the biolights, rubbing at the slit along the end, all with curious fascination.  “Is this right Sir?”

“That’s good,” Sentinel encouraged.  “Touch your valve too, the one a little lower.”

“Yes Sir!” he barked, as his second hand traced its way down, until it found his own opening, shiny slick.  He played with the rim for a long moment, his visor bright, mouth drooping open, vents flaring.  “Oh Sir, this is already so nice!”

“Keep going.  Dip them inside.  Feel yourself up.”  This was good.  He was already beginning to feel the warmth pool in his own belly again.  He would be back up in no time.

“Yes S-Sir!  I am doing Sir!”  He dipped a long finger into the awaiting chasm, and then, excited by the new sensations, dipped in a second, and a third, working at himself with increasing pleasure.  His glossa had lulled out, and his hips thrust into his hands every few seconds.  The fingers wrapped around his spike had increased their grip, moving up and down the slightest bit.  That was when Jetstorm got his first bright idea.

He pulled the fingers from his valve, slick with lubricants, and swapped them with his dry hand, pumping his spike with increased ease, squealing slightly at the sensation.  His newly freed hand dove back into his valve, and fragged if Sentinel wasn’t proud.  “Oh Sir, I want more!”

Sentinel looked down at his own spike, twitching lazily, still far from fully pressurized.  He stroked at the tip, hoping to coax it back to full strength, but he was still far from ready.  He wasn’t completely without ideas of his own, however.  Already, Jetfire was beginning to recover, gazing at the show before him with curious lust in his amber optics.  Sentinel leaned down over him, whispering into his audial again.

“Jetfire, you never did get to taste my spike, did you?”

He stiffened, but said nothing.  Sentinel could _feel_ the waves of anticipation rolling off of him.  

“Jetstorm over there needs your help, and I do too.  Go sit to his side, so I can still see, and suck his spike.  Sound good?”

Hesitation filled those wide, golden optics as he gazed up into Sentinel’s own like a lost cyberkitten, but wordlessly he nodded, and hoisted himself into the proper position.

“Brother?  What are you to be . . .”

Jetfire leaned down, wrapping his lips around that thin spike, taking it in all the way to the hilt, and Jetstorm lost his mind.  

“A-ah!  S-Sir!  What are you ordering him to be doing?”

“Just enjoy it, Jetstorm.  I promise, I will help you next.  Jetfire, why don’t you play with his valve too?”

With a snort of understanding, those deft fingers reached between Jetstorm’s thighs, sliding into that tight valve alongside his own, in and out, thumbing at the nodes along the top.  Jetstorm couldn’t hold himself still any longer; his legs began to kick out as the pleasure claimed him, and the sensation clearly echoed in Jetfire as well, he shuddered, choking down the transfluid that shot into his mouth, dribbling out along the sides, mixing with his own oral solvents to produce a deliciously foamy mess.  Sentinel was so very ready to jump in there himself.

But Jetfire beat him to it.  He withdrew from Jetstorm’s spike, still trembling from the reflected overload, and crawled up the equally shivering frame, forcing his scant weight forwards to pin his twin to the floor, and planted his lips on the other's, devouring him, forcing Jetstorm to taste his own transfluid in that hot, skilled mouth.  Okay, yes, this was it.  Sentinel was ready for round two.  

He crawled forward, bodily pulling Jetfire from his twin, and setting him to the side.  Jetfire whined in response, but allowed himself to be  moved.  It was, after all, still Jetstorm’s turn for pleasure.  Sentinel lifted that limp frame, resting Jetstorm’s chest against his own.   The pleasured jet had enough energy left to spread his legs as Sentinel maneuvered him over his stiff spike, and allowed him to slide down.

Like Jetfire before him, fingers had in no way prepared him for such levels of penetration.  He whined and jerked as his calipers struggled to make way for Sentinel’s massive spike, and his slick fingers dug into Sentinel’s grille, holding on for dear life.  He buried his face in Sentinel’s neck, holding back his sobs.

“How’s that feel, Jetstorm?”

“It is . . . it is so much Sir,” he whimpered.  “But I am liking it, I think.”

“Good,” Sentinel cooed, reaching up a hand to stroke at the back of Jetstorm’s helm.  “You’re doing so well.”  A soft whimper was his reply, as Jetstorm’s valve finally relaxed enough to allow Sentinel to bottom out.  He gave the exhausted little jet a moment to adjust, then began rolling his hips lazily, a low groan rumbling in his own vocaliser.  Frag, this was perfect.

“Sir?” squeaked Jetfire, dragging him from the moment.  Damn.  

“What?” he growled, a bit harsher than he’d intended.

“Sir, what am I to be doing?”

What indeed?  He doubted Jetstorm had the energy to help relieve Jetfire’s own growing charge, and even Sentinel wasn’t sure he wanted to touch that clearly-damaged valve so soon after their last go.  He wasn’t all that interested in spikes, with the exception of Rodimus’s, but he did have one more venue he’d yet to pursue.

“Open your spark chamber for me?” he requested, less certain than his usual orders.  It was a very intimate thing to ask for; he wasn’t entirely certain Jetfire would go for it.  And indeed, he hesitated once again, watching Sentinel with his too-cute optics.

“My spark chamber, Sir?”

“Yeah,” Sentinel agreed.  “Sparkplay is a very pleasurable thing.”  Or so he’d heard.  He hadn’t spent much time experimenting with it himself.

“Oh!” Jetfire said, easily convinced as ever.  “You are teaching me so many new things!  I will give my spark to you, Sir!”  With that said, his chestplate slid open, and the inner chamber as well, revealing his shining blue spark, flecked in the same amber as his optics, and Primus, it was intoxicating to have a bot willingly put himself into such a vulnerable position just to please him.  He reached out with his free hand, wrapping it around Jetfire’s waist to draw him in close.

“Hold on tight.  This will be intense.”  Jetfire’s fingers dug into Sentinel’s treads with one hand, while the other rested itself just above Jetstorm’s aft.  Perfect.  

Still rolling his hips into Jetstorm’s valve, he allowed his hand to travel up Jetfire’s body, making its way to that exposed chest, then diving in with blunt fingers.  The heat of that spark was intense, burning at the grey paint on his fingers, but Sentinel didn’t care.  He marveled at the way that energy moved around him, wrapping itself around his penetrating hand until he reached the core, stroking and prodding with careful movements.

Jetfire screamed, flinging himself forward into the touch, his whole body jerking, and Jetstorm, sensing the intensity of his spark twin’s feelings, peeled himself from Sentinel’s chest, leaning over that thick arm to cover Jetfire’s mouth with his own.  Primus, this couldn’t have been hotter.

The three moved in tandem, Sentinel rolling into Jetstorm, who twitched and shivered, dragging his mindless twin with him.  Neither lasted long at this rate.  Jetfire and Jetstorm overloaded in tandem, breaking their kiss as each was overcome with powerful convulsions.  And the rapid-fire clenching of Jetstorm’s valve around Sentinel’s spike was enough to coax out his own second overload, spilling his transfluid into Jetstorm, as he had his twin before him.  

Completely spent, the three collapsed into an immobile pile on the rubble of the floor, Sentinel atop Jetstorm, while Jetfire slumped half-under, half-on top of Sentinel, his chestplate still wide open, still twitching from the shock of his second overload.  Sentinel, at the very least, found the energy to withdraw his hand, the pain of that heat no longer pleasant with his arousal gone.  Another klik gave him the energy to withdraw from Jetstorm, who lay unmoving, too exhausted to close himself up either.

“Well?” said Sentinel.  “How was it?”

Neither twin responded for a long time, each lost in his own world, as the overwhelming throes of ecstasy slowly wore off.

“It was being . . .” Jetstorm croaked.

“Amazing,” Jetfire finished.

“At last, something we can agree on.”  This wasn’t so bad.  He had two lovely little mechs who absolutely fragging _adored_ him, hung on his every word, obeyed his every order without question.  This was everything he wanted, nay, _needed_ in a lover, or lovers as the case may be.  This could work.  This could really, really work.

He sat up, rubbing his aching head and for the first time since they’d began, taking in the trashed state of his room.  Oh yeah.   _That_ was still an issue.  Frag it all.

“Jetfire, Jetstorm,” he murmured, and each responded with a tired grunt.  “You destroyed my berth, which is annoying, but I’m too tired to care.  However, tomorrow, once the two of you are up and about again, you _will_ be fixing the damage you’ve done here.  And you can expect a major dock in pay, let me tell you.”

“Mmm, yes Sir,” Jetfire sighed.

“Sounding good, Sir,” Jetstorm agreed.

Sentinel doubted they’d properly heard what he’d said, but he’d forgive their insubordination just this once.  The little dears were just so damn spent.  Instead, he maneuvered himself between the two, wrapping an arm around each, and enjoying the way they curled up against his frame in turn, still fully exposed.  The floor was uncomfortable, and he was pretty certain there was a shard of crystal digging into his spinal strut, but he couldn’t bring himself to care right now.  For the time being, this was all he needed.


	5. Dreaming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chance encounter summons a blast from the past.

Sentinel Prime was in trouble.  He’d known it was wrong to sleep with the twins, but damn it, they had forced his hand!  They’d unambiguously wanted him, enough so to break into, not to mention  _ destroy, _ his house.  Ultra Magnus, however, was less than understanding.

“You are their superior.  You should not have pressed your advantage, no matter the circumstance.”  

“What advantage?” Sentinel sighed.  “I told you about how they broke into my house, right?”

“You should not have encouraged that behavior.”

Sentinel shook his head.  “I know, I know!” he groaned.  “But  _ you _ try saying no in that situation.  It ain’t easy, let me tell ya.”

Ultra Magnus’s unamused glare was its own reply.

“Okay, okay!” Sentinel groaned.  “I was wrong.  You’re right, and I was wrong.  But it’s not like I can go back in time and like,  _ not _ sleep with the twins.  So what do you want me to do in the now?  I’m all about finding a solution to this problem, because believe me, no one wants to not sleep with the twins again more than me.”  It was true.  The first time had been alright, save for the lack of a proper home for a few weeks, but ever since, the twins would not leave him alone.  And if he’d thought breaking and entering had been bad, the full-on stalking was worse.  Most recently, they’d started a fight on a public train, at which point, the Magnus had finally stepped in.

“For now,” Ultra Magnus sighed, “I shall be leaving Jetfire and Jetstorm in the care of Agent Jazz.  If they manage to ‘give him the slip,’ as you say, and approach you despite their orders to avoid contact, then you are to tell them that you cannot sleep with them again, and explain exactly why that is.  If they persist, you will leave.  Force maybe be allowed if necessary, but you are not, under any circumstances, permitted to sleep with them again.  If you do, there will be punishment.”

“Y-yes sir!” Sentinel replied, saluting.  “But, uh, what kind of punishment are we talking here?  Those twins can be very persuasive.”

And that was how Sentinel found himself on leave for the rest of the lunar cycle.

He would have been more angry, but it got him away from Jetfire and Jetstorm for a bit, so he found he didn’t mind too much.  In the meantime, he had a lot of relaxing to catch up on, maybe go out for some drinks.  There was a nice little bar in the neighborhood that he’d heard good things about.  Maybe it was worth checking out.

“Hello,” he said, sliding up to the bar.  “I’ll take a double McGuirkess.”

“Hey, ain’t you the guy who was in here a few months back with that little red guy?”

Frag.  Frag it all.  Had that been  _ this _ bar?  “Uh . . .”

“‘Cause like,” the bartender leaned forward conspiratorially, “I don’t wanna start trouble or nothing, but I think he’s in here with another mech.” 

“What?”  Sentinel followed the bartender’s extended finger, and indeed there was Cliffjumper, laughing and joking and generally being an uncharacteristically chummy sort of chap, but it wasn’t just seeing Cliffjumper’s cheery face that had Sentinel’s tanks churning; oh no.  It was who he was getting chummy with.

“Is that . . . Rodimus Prime?”

“Yessiree!” the bartender said with a wide smile.  “The Prime’s been coming here lately with a little yellow guy, so I was surprised to see him here with your mech.”

“Cliffjumper’s not my mech!” Sentinel protested, but his spark wasn’t in it.  Seeing two of his one night stands together was just too much to take.  He sighed, shaking his head.  “Thanks for the tip,” he said, before turning back to the bartender.  “I’ll take a Nightmare Fuel before I split.”

“You sure sir?  Those are awfully strong.”  Evidently, he saw something dangerous in Sentinel’s glare, as he quickly got to making it.  “H-here you go, sir!  Enjoy!”

Sentinel downed the thing in one quick go, then got up and walked away.

“Sir!  Aren’t you going to pay for that?” the bartender called out.

“Put it on my tab,” Sentinel waved over his shoulder, giving Rodimus and Cliffjumper a sharp glare on his way out.  Then he tripped, falling through the open door and onto his face.  

“Are you okay?!” the bartender was yelling now, though he still hadn’t left his post.

And Sentinel called back, “I meant to do that!”  He leapt to his feet in one quick motion, wobbling as the world spun around him.  Surely the Nightmare Fuel hadn’t kicked in  _ that _ quickly.

He stumbled off down the street with no real destination in mind.  He couldn’t drink the night away  – at least not at  _ that _ bar, but really, what was the point if he drank anywhere else?  Sentinel was a mech with standards, after all.

Fortunately, he didn’t have to wander for long.

_ [Sentinel Prime, are you there?] _

At first, Sentinel didn’t realize what was happening.  He whirled around, searching for the mech who called out to him.  But he was alone on the street.  Where was this voice coming from?

_ [Sentinel?] _

Oh!  It was his comm.

“Yeah, I’m here!” he said.  And then, “Who  _ is _ this?  This is supposed to be a private line!”

_ [It’s Longarm Prime, sir.  There is something I would like to discuss with you, in private.] _

In private?  Oh Primus!  Was Longarm inviting him to another threesome?  Sentinel was totally down for that!  “Is Agent Blurr going to be there?”

There was a pause from the other end, followed by a strangely noncommittal,  _ [Sure.] _

“I’m there!  Shoot me some coordinates, and I’ll be there in a flash!”

_ [Of course, sir.  Sending now.] _

It was Sherma Bridge  – a bit of a strange locale for a threesome, but he already knew that Longarm and Blurr were into some kinky slag; why wouldn’t exhibitionism be part of it?

As he took off down the street at a cheery jog, however, he found that not everybody on the street had the exact regard for authority that they should have.  Folks just didn’t know how to get out of the way these days.  Sentinel tripped over one particularly clumsy fool, dragging the both of them to the ground, hard.

“Dammit!  Watch where you’re going?!  Don’t you know who I am?”

“Sentinel?”

“That’s Sentinel Prime to you!” he snapped back, before realizing that this was another voice that he knew.  “Optimus?”

Indeed, Sentinel had tripped over long-time friend, longer-time enemy, Optimus Prime.  What rotten luck.  Nothing ruined his day quite like tripping over someone he hated, and he  _ hated _ Optimus.  

“What are you doing standing in the middle of the road?!” he snapped, jumping back to his feet, overshooting, and hitting the wall behind him.  Fragging Optimus.

“I was on my way to work,” Optimus replied with a grimace, standing up with zero difficulty at all.  It was just one more reason to hate the guy.

“Well, you  – you shouldn’t be standing right in the middle of the road.  People are trying to get by!”

“I wasn’t standing,” Optimus protested.  “One moment, I’m walking, the next, I’m lying on the ground.”

“A-are you saying that I should watch where I’m going?!” Sentinel snapped.  “How  _ dare _ you?!”

“What are you talking about, Sentinel?  Are  – are you _ drunk? _ ”

“Don’t change the subject on me Optimus!”  Sentinel lunged forward, arms swinging in a punch.  He didn’t have to put up with this!  He was Sentinel fragging Prime, second in command of the Autobot military.  His life was in the pits right now.  And Optimus dared to make fun of him?  It was an insult that could not be tolerated.

Optimus easily dodged the blow.  “What do you think you’re doing?!  This is no behavior for a Prime!” 

“So you think I don’t deserve to be  _ Prime _ now?!”  This time, Sentinel’s punch was too fast to avoid.  Fortunately for Optimus, the hit wasn’t hard.

Optimus grabbed the fist in hand before Sentinel could strike again.  “Sentinel, what’s wrong with you?!  Stop and think about what you’re doing for a nano!”

“Oh, so something’s wrong with me now?!”  He swung with his free hand, only to be caught by Optimus, two Primes, grappling for supremacy.  And that was how the Autotroopers found them.

~~~

“This is all your fault, you know,” Sentinel groaned, taking a seat on the bench.  They’d been arrested for fighting in public.  He,  _ Sentinel fragging Prime,  _ second in command of the Autobot military, had been arrested.  Put in jail.  It was just for the night, but Primus, this was so wrong on so many levels, least of all for the fact that he was shut up in a cell next to Optimus.  Optimus hadn’t spoken to him since the arrest, preferring to seethe silently on his own bunk, and ignore his superior officer.  Aft.

As predicted, the silent slag sucker said nothing.

“If you hadn’t been in my way, I could be off in a hotel, having a steamy three-way with the sexiest bot in the Elite Guard.”  He revelled in the sudden stiff set to Optimus’s shoulders.  “But no, your ugly mug had to get in my way.  There you go, Optimus, fucking things up like always.”

Optimus said nothing.  

“You’re rude, is what you are.  Can’t even respond when you’re being spoken to directly.”

Of all things, that got a rise out of him.  “What do you want from me, Sentinel?  Do you really hate me so much?”

“Of course I do!” Sentinel snapped back.  Was it true?  Perhaps not.  Both Sentinel and Optimus could pinpoint the exact moment of their falling out, and though Sentinel would never admit it, he knew deep down that he was just as much to blame for what had happened, as Optimus.  But it was better to let Optimus take the blame  – he was the one who wanted it, after all.  And he deserved every bit of it.

“Of course you do,” Optimus echoed, subdued.  Well, good for him!  It was nice to see the idiot agreeing with Sentinel for once.  Usually he was just a major pain in the afterburner.

After that, it seemed that Optimus had nothing more to say, and Sentinel’s delightful drunken buzz was wearing off.  This was no good; it left Sentinel to his boredom and worse, to his regrets.  Whenever Optimus was around, it was hard not to think of that which he’d taken from Sentinel  – the light of his life, no longer with him.

. . . 

Frag, this was too dark.  He needed to think of something happier.  

Happy, like slim, blue fingers, a voluminous golden crest, a lively smile, light-hearted voice, a passion for adventure and a lust for life.  

Well, that hadn’t helped.  He shook his head and flopped over on the floor  – stupid place didn’t even have a recharge slab.  The Magnus would get him out in the morning.  In the meantime, he just had to try and get some sleep.  He shuttered his optics, and pretended as hard as he could that he wasn’t in a jail cell next to Optimus Freakin’ Prime.

. . .

“Sentinel?”

“What?”  It was a lot harder to pretend Optimus wasn’t here when he wouldn’t shut up.  He was always like this.

“I miss you, you know?”

“I’m sure,” Sentinel scoffed.  What was this nonsense.

“I miss  _ us _ .  I miss the way we were before.  Before  – well, you know.”

Sentinel narrowed his eyes.  “Well, maybe you shouldn’t have fragged up so bad.”

“Same to you.”

What?!  Optimus wasn’t supposed to fight back!  He hadn’t once in the thousand stellar cycles since Elita’s death!  How could he dare to start now?!  “What did you say?!” Sentinel hissed leaping to his feet.  “What happened was  _ your _ fault, and we both know it!”

Optimus was on his feet too, a stern frown on his punchable face.  “You’re the one who insisted we explore Archa Seven in the first place.  Maybe if you hadn’t been so reckless, Elita would still be alive.”

Sentinel couldn’t take this.  “Say that to my face!” he roared lunging forward, until he and Optimus were mere inches apart.  Optimus remained unperturbed by the show.

“You take your anger out on me, because you know that it was your fault.  Your hatred of me is a deep-seated hatred for yourself, one that you’re too afraid to admit.”

“Like the Pit it is!” Sentinel snapped, lunging forward, ready to punch that smug frown off of Optimus’s lucious, kissable lips.  Optimus ducked under the blow, planting an uppercut of his own on Sentinel’s prominent chin.  Sentinel went flying across the cell, and Optimus followed him down.  From there, fists flew, and two heart-broken Primes rolled around on the prison floor, in a no-holds-barred beatdown to end all beatdowns.

“Boys, boys.  No need to fight over little old me.”

Simultaneously, Optimus and Sentinel tore their eyes away from each other, instead focused on their mutual friend, sitting in front of the cell with a mischievous smile on her lips.

“Elita!” Sentinel shouted, surprised, before remembering that this was a prison, and that there were guards all around.  He lowered his voice to a whisper, before adding, “What are you doing here?”

“Getting you losers out,” she laughed, dangling a key card between her fingers.  Below Sentinel, Optimus smiled.

“You really are something else, Elita,” he said.

“Don’t I know it.”  She swiped the card, and just like that, the cell door slid open.  From there, getting out of the camp brig was a breeze.  Soon enough, the three were laughing and joking in the mess hall, inseparable as always.

“I can’t believe how easy that was,” Optimus grinned.

“What were you even in for?”

Optimus and Sentinel exchanged a long, awkward glance.  It wasn’t something they much cared to discuss.  But Elita was expecting an answer.  “Oh, you know,” Optimus tried, while Sentinel uttered, “This and that.”

Elita was savvy enough to get the point.  A wide grin broke out on her face, and she began backing away.  “Well, don’t let me stand in your way.”  

“Elita, wait!” Sentinel protested, but she was still making her escape, faster now.

“Don’t get caught this time!” she laughed, and dipped through the doorway, leaving Optimus and Sentinel alone once more.  Well, this was awkward.  And somehow very wrong.  Sentinel was sure that he was supposed to hate Optimus for some reason, but he couldn’t quite recall what that reason was.  And Elita had been so very convinced that they were a thing.  Maybe they  _ were _ ?

“Uh, now what?” he said, feeling altogether confused.

Optimus, however, was not confused.  Optimus stepped closer, and ran a finger along his jaw.  “I think you know,” he purred.  Okay, well, Sentinel could play along.  There was no reason not to, and one very major reason why he should, namely, his spike had throbbed to life at the harmless touch.  Primus, he was easy, wasn’t he?

He would never admit it.

The next thing Sentinel knew, he was pressed against the wall with Optimus’s lips on his own.  Somehow, it all felt natural, like forgetting the trauma of the last thousand years, and coming home.

Sentinel wrapped his hands around Optimus’s aft, doing his level best to lift his partner from the ground.  All he really managed was to bring their arrays closer together.  They were a bit too close in size, alas, though Optimus didn’t seem to mind.  He deepened the kiss, tangling his own hands in Sentinel’s smokestacks.

Somehow they fell to the floor.  Sentinel hadn’t even noticed.  It wasn’t until he onlined his optics, until he realized that Optimus was above him that he became aware of the positioning.  No one had the right to be on top of the great Sentinel Minor!  He squirmed and shuffled until at last, he was able to push Optimus from atop him, and pin his colleague below.

“You are so touchy,” Optimus laughed.

“You know I like to be in charge,” Sentinel smiled back.

“Yeah, yeah.”  With that said, he activated his interface array, opening his panels.  “Well, now that you have me, you’d better do a damn good job, Sentinel.  I’d hate to be disappointed,” he smirked.

Sentinel too retracted his panels.  “Oh, you’ll see, Optimus.  Just you wait!”

Sentinel did not do a good job.  He was clumsy.  He missed Optimus’s valve three times before making it in.  He couldn’t find any of the right nodes.  He even slipped out once, with a sad little pop.  And to top it all off, he came much too soon.  But it was all okay.  Optimus was encouraging, doting, forgiving, and Sentinel did everything he could to return the favor, even if he did turn out to be all bark and no bite.  He did everything within his power to make sure his partner was satisfied, and Optimus was grateful for it.  When they were finally done, they collapsed to the floor, side-by-side, laughing and sated and so totally in love.

And Sentinel was glad  – glad that, out of all the bots in the world, the most perfect one had chosen him.  He couldn’t have been happier.

. . .

And then he woke up.  

Optimus was awake, his arms folded over his chest, and his gaze fixed very pointedly on the bars of his cell  –  his  _ separate _ cell , ignoring Sentinel all together.  Sentinel quickly shifted his attention as well, mostly to hide the pink flush that had come over his cheeks.  Frag, why had he dreamed of such a thing?  He  _ hated _ Optimus!  And it was Elita who he had been involved with, not this fragstick!  And even if he  _ had _ been involved with this fragstick at one point, none of that mattered anymore.  Those days were long gone  – had died with Elita-1.

“Good morning, Sentinel,” said Optimus, sparing him a momentary glance.  Sentinel snorted in return.

“Yeah, whatever.”

Optimus sighed, and returned his attention to the bars, leaving Sentinel alone to his increasingly miserable thoughts.  Sentinel wasn’t a happy mech these days.  He kept throwing himself into shallow relationship after shallow relationship, hoping for he-didn’t-even know-what, and time and time again, he was failing to find it.  He hated this, hated living such a lonely existence.  The dream had only served to remind him that he’d once been happy, he’d once been capable of so much more.  He still could be.  All he had to do was forgive Optimus.

. . .

Yeah right!

He didn’t bother saying anything else to the other Prime.  Soon enough, the order was given for their release, and the two parted ways, Optimus back to his ship, and Sentinel back to Fortress Maximus.  He didn’t need Optimus in his life, nor did he want him, no matter how much fun they used to have together.  He was better off as he was now.

Wasn’t he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that wasn't half so smokey as I wanted it to be. Angst took me over x.x


End file.
